


Never Alone

by Lilachigh



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:16:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilachigh/pseuds/Lilachigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the Apocalypse and destruction of Sunnydale, everyone needs to start their new lives.  Buffy is determined to do so, but then she receives an unexpected present.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

NEVER ALONE

by Lilachigh

 

Chp One - Memories

They were flying to Italy in the morning: she’d emptied the fridge, put out the garbage, cleaned their rented apartment and now Buffy stood gazing at her over-flowing suitcase, wondering how she’d managed to collect so many new clothes in such a short time. For someone who’d lost everything, there was still too much to cram into one case.

"Dawn! Have we got a spare suitcase? Dawn!"

There was silence in the apartment and Buffy wearily sank down onto her bed, remembering that Dawn had gone to the airport to say goodbye to Willow and Kennedy as they flew off to England. Buffy had said her goodbyes earlier. She felt she’d spent too many hours lately waving at people as they went through barriers to catch planes - Xander, Giles and Andrew, Faith and Wood - off to start their shiny new lives. They had all seemed so - so well, she wouldn’t say happy exactly, especially Xander, but hopeful that the worst was now behind them and that the future could only be brighter.

And of course, it was going to be brighter. She gazed at her reflection in the bedroom mirror and forced it to smile cheerfully. She was good at that. She’d learnt that no one wanted her to be sad. She’d won a mavellous victory, changed what it meant to be a Slayer, altered her own life forever. 

Sometimes she was reminded of the time when Willow had brought her back from the dead. Her nearest and dearest wanted her to smile and be happy and cheerful. Then they could relax and be happy themselves. Every time she tried to talk about what had happened, about Sunnydale, about Spike, one of them would change the subject. Not as if it was too painful to think about, more that it was too difficult. She wondered if she was the only person who thought about him? Dawn had mourned briefly for the Spike who’d been her friend: the vampire without a soul. She’d never seemed too keen on the new variety.

But Buffy knew why. In Dawn’s world everything was black and white, sad or happy. Buffy had even wondered a couple of times if Willow had put some sort of spell on them, to help with the grieving. How could Dawn accept without comment that their mother’s grave no longer existed, that everything that made their life special had vanished? 

“They’re just possessions, Buffy,” Willow had said once when she’d challenged her. But every possession also carried a memory with it. Good or bad, weak or strong, woven into the fabric of life. Buffy’s life had thousands of tiny holes scattered across it. 

Obviously people were far more important. But then Willow hadn’t lost Kennedy, Faith hadn’t lost Robin, Dawn hadn’t lost her. And Xander... well, she didn’t understand him. He never mentioned Anya any more. That was since the one night when she’d tried to talk to him about Spike. “I don’t want to hear his name again, Buff. I’m so glad he died!” he’d snapped. “Andrew told me Anya - went - quite close to the end of the fight. Trust your lover to leave it too late. If he’d died sooner, she would still be alive.”

Buffy was guiltily glad that Xander wasn’t coming to Italy with them. And, of course, as everyone kept telling her, it was going to be great over there. Giles, Willow and Kennedy would be so much closer in England, Dawnie would be at a good school, and there were all the European potentials to train, yes, she was going to be busy, busy, busy...

And completely alone.

The thought tore through her mind, ripping at the scars in her memory that would never, ever heal. She lifted her hand and gazed at it. No damage, no marks, not even a blister to show where the flames had twisted and blazed as Spike’s hand had grasped hers. There was nothing to show that William the Bloody had ever existed, had ever fought and killed, and laughed and loved. Nothing, except the world he’d saved, of course.

Angel had said very little on the phone when she’d spoken to him. He was glad the pendant had worked. Sorry about Spike. Sorry about Sunnydale. Did she want to meet up... ? She’d said no. Perhaps later when she’d sorted out her plans. She’d realised she couldn’t face him just now. Was he truly sorry that Spike had died? She couldn’t tell from his voice and didn’t want to look into his eyes and see relief, guilt, even satisfaction.

The buzz of the doorbell jerked her back to the present. “Dawn Summers, don’t tell me you’ve lost your key again! I’m going to get you a chain for it when we get to Italy and then...Clem!”

A timid wave of droopy skinned fingers, a beaming smile from amidst the folds of skin and a “H..Hi Buffy. Good to see ya.”

“Clem!” She found herself hugging him, losing herself in his voluminous grasp. “What on earth are you doing here? I’m so pleased to see you. Come in, come in! Can I get you something? A beer, chips?”

“No, Slayer, that’s OK. I’m good.” He shifted from one foot to the other, still smiling, but she could tell he was feeling uncomfortable. “Nice place.”

She shrugged. “It’s OK. We’re off to Italy tomorrow. Dawn and me, that is. The others have all left. How did you find me? You know....” The words stuck in her throat, but she had to say them, “You know about Spike”

She watched fascinated as a tear spilled out of the demon’s eye and rolled down and along various folds of skin to vanish and never be seen again.

“Yes, that’s why...he said if he....if it happened....well, this came for you!” He thrust his hand into a voluminous bag he wore slung over his shoulder and produced a battered parcel. Badly wrapped, the sticky tape just holding it together. 

The hairs on the back of Buffy’s neck stood up. Every muscle in her body shouted ‘Vampire’ and every nerve shouted ‘Spike’ “For me?” she whispered.

“Yup. It’s...it’s from Spike.”

“He posted me a parcel!” The only coherent thought in her head at that moment was ‘Spike wouldn’t know where the Post Office was in Sunnydale!’

“No. It came by hand. You know, one demon to another. Cross country. Sort of pigeon post but by, well, by us demons, demon post, I suppose.”

“And no one opened it?”

Clem looked hurt. “It was from Spike,” he said as if that explained everything.

Buffy sat down abruptly on the sofa and Clem placed the parcel on her lap and anxiously edged away towards the door. “Well, got to go, Slayer. Parked in a no parking zone. Don’t want to get fined. Have a good trip. See you when you get back.”

Buffy didn’t hear him go. The blood was roaring through her head making her dizzy. She touched the parcel with gentle fingers. The words Buffy Summers were written in a fine black script. Spike’s handwriting. How did she know that? Had she ever seen anything he’d written? The paper gave way at her first touch and she heard herself gasp - a hard, hurting sound. One of Spike’s red shirts lay underneath, the sleeves tied tightly together to hold something else inside. She could smell him - leather, cigarette smoke, the very texture of his skin. Her fingers trembled as she touched the soft material, remembering the times she’d ripped at it in passion, in lust, with the love she’d never admitted until it was too late.

Tucked inside the knot of the shirt was a piece of paper. For long seconds she couldn’t force herself to pull it out. It was a page from the calendar that had hung in the kitchen now buried deep in the Hellmouth. On the front a picture of cute kittens, on the back -

‘Have a feeling I’ll be long gone when you get these, luv. Know you haven’t got time for memories now. But you will. Always yours.’ 

The knotted sleeves were no problem to Slayer fingers. The shirt fell open and she stared at the two gifts he’d wrapped inside. Gifts that in all that chaos, Spike had thought to find and send off into the blue, into the future, in case she came through unscathed. The framed picture of herself and Dawn and her mother that she had thought was lost forever. And a battered, rather dirty, much loved, stuffed toy pig. 

* * * *

"Buffy, I don’t understand. You’ve cancelled our flights to Italy and now I’m going to England to stay with Giles and Willow instead!" The whine that had vanished recently from Dawn’s voice was making a rare appearance.

Buffy bit her lip. "It’s only for a few days, Dawnie. I - I’m just not ready for Italy yet, and I certainly don’t want you out there on your own! I’ve heard far too much about Italian boys. I’ve booked you on a flight to Heathrow. Giles will meet you and I’ll join you as soon as I can. Then we’ll go on to Italy together. Hey, perhaps we can hire a car and drive down through France and over the Alps. That’ll be fun!"

A look of pure horror crossed Dawn’s face at the thought of her sister driving them through Europe in a strange car, then realised it had been a deliberate ploy to change the subject. "This is all about Spike’s parcel, isn’t it?" she said softly. "Since Clem, you‘ve been acting weird."

"It was weird receiving it," Buffy murmured. "I so still can’t get my head round the fact that in all that chaos, Spike thought of doing that for me. He found the photo and Mr Gordo, parcelled them up and arranged for demons to deliver them to me if I survived. I mean, come on, Dawn, would you have known where to find sticky tape and wrapping paper with all those girls in the house? Can you imagine Spike standing in line at the Post Office to have it weighed?"

"Yes, OK, major weirdness and niceness and, yes, it was lovely to see that photo of you and me and Mom and even though I’m way to old for stuffed toys, perhaps you’re not! But what can you do about it, Buffy, except be pleased and sad and fly off to Italy!"

"I don’t know, Dawn. I just feel that there’s something I have to do. Something...I don’t know exactly, that needs doing and I’m the only one who can do it. What’s more, I have the strangest feeling that I need to do it in a hurry."

"Something about Spike? But he’s dead, Buffy!"

No matter how many times Buffy heard or thought those words, she had the same reaction. Cold shivers ran across her body, but the skin on her hand that had twined, blazing with Spike’s as he died, felt as if it was on fire again. "Yes, I know that. We wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t!"

But I was dead once, no twice, she thought sadly. And here am I with a nice new life, with good friends and perhaps even Angel still there, waiting. All because Willow magicked me back. So...what if... A frisson of anticipation made her shudder. What if Spike was - somewhere - waiting for help, for a call that never came. She’d been happy and contented in her heavenly dimension. But Spike... She knew he wasn’t the sort of man who’d be content to just exist, to be warm and happy and nothing else. He was a warrior, a fighter. She’d gone gracefully, almost gladly to her death when she jumped off the tower. But Spike had gone to his fighting until the flames consumed him.

Surely he wouldn’t have gone somewhere dreadful. Was there another Hell, a spiritual Hell under the Hellmouth? But he’d done a lot of good in the end, she reasoned. He’d sacrificed himself for the world, just as she had done. So why wouldn’t he have gone to the same heavenly dimension as she had? Because you were finished and he wasn’t. The answer came as swift as a knife stroke. And she knew as plainly as if it had been written in blood on the kitchen floor, that Spike was somewhere, in some far-off dimension, waiting and he would know that the only person who could help him, who would even want to help him, was her. And even as she thought that, she could hear a voice, somewhere, echoing in her head, ‘I’m running out of time, pet. You’d better hurry.’

"Dawn, I’ve changed my mind! I’m coming with you to England tomorrow. I need to speak to Willow urgently!" 

England was being very English when they arrived. A pearly grey sky and a fine drizzly rain that covered their hair and clothes in a sparkling mist. The flight had been uneventful. Buffy had tried to eat the meal, watch the movie, but all she could hear was that low, unmistakable voice, saying over and over again, ‘Hurry, hurry, hurry!’

"Buffy," Dawn whispered as they made their way outside, "everyone talks like Giles and Spike!" 

The drive down to the west country, to the ancient city of Bath was smooth, motorway all the way. Giles had sent a car; the chauffeur was polite but non chatty. Dawn fell asleep in five minutes and Buffy sat stiffly upright with her sister leaning against her shoulder, wondering how she could possibly have imagined driving in this country when you were on the wrong side of the road to start with. But then, hey, she usually ended up on this side of the road, anyway, so perhaps no biggie there!

She tried to remember if Spike had ever spoken about the last time he was in England. His history with Angel and Dru had been so complicated and there were huge gaps in her knowledge. ‘I just wish you were here to show me all this,’ she whispered. ‘Then I wouldn’t feel like such a stranger.’

And she imagined she could hear his voice saying, ‘God, pack of bloody Colonials arriving to take over the place. Better mind your manners, pet. Oh, and did I mention recently, bit of speed on your part would be appreciated!’

Giles’ apartment was the top two floors of a beautiful, graceful Regency house in the Royal Crescent. Buffy remembered him telling her once that his apartment had been built a hundred years before Spike was born. She wondered if Spike had ever been to Bath. William had, perhaps. She could picture him, wandering around, reading Jane Austen, peering at the beautiful Abbey through the spectacles he’d told her he’d worn. Or had Spike and Dru cut a swathe through the polite society people one night. Perhaps the Roman Baths had run red with blood and no one had known who was responsible for the carnage.

When the Summers sisters arrived, everyone was there, including three British potentials who were going to Italy to start training. Giles looked delighted to see Buffy and Dawn, but rubbed his glasses endlessly on his tie, obviously harassed, saying that with all these changes of plan, his home was getting as crowded as the house in Sunnydale and there was only one bathroom so everyone would have to be very, very patient!

"Buffy," Willow said quietly as Dawn went off with the young girls to explore. "What are you doing over here? What’s happened. Why aren’t you in Italy?"

Buffy explained about the parcel, "And Will, I know it’s ridiculous, but I feel there’s something I have to do, and I don’t know what it is. What I do know is that I have to hurry. Will, when you brought me back..."

"Buffy, stop. That was really dark magic. I needed things, did things - "

"But could you do the same spell and bring Spike back?"

"No! Buffy, you don’t know what you’re saying. I couldn’t bring Tara back. Don’t you think I would have, didn’t want to..."

"But you told me Tara died a ‘human’ death. That was why they wouldn’t let you. But Spike’s was mystical, like mine was. So surely..."

Willow turned away. "It isn’t possible. Glory’s magic was straightforward. Even The Council knew what it entailed. Getting you back from that was dangerous and difficult, but I knew where to start, what to do. The pendant that Angel brought you, the one that Spike was wearing when.... I don’t know where it came from, but I could feel that that wasn’t magic, exactly."

"What was it then?"

"It was a sort of power. More powerful even than The First. And so old, older than anything I’d ever encountered before. Buffy, I just don’t know how to help."

And if you did know, would you? The words trembled on Buffy’s lips, but she bit them back. Nothing would be gained by falling out with Willow. She could feel that mentally her friend had moved on. She had put Tara and Oz, Spike and Sunnydale, away in neat compartments in her brain. There was no way she was going to open up those boxes and explore the contents again. It would be far too painful.

The night dragged by painfully. Buffy tossed and turned on Giles’ sofa. She knew her Watcher was irritated by her behaviour. He’d said very little over dinner, laughing with Dawn about the amount of chicken legs she could consume from the vast bucket of fried chicken he’d sent out for. He’d told Buffy that Andrew was already in Italy, sorting out their accommodation, organising a place where they could begin to train the European potentials. He hadn’t actually said, ‘Why are you wasting your time over here?’ but she could tell it was on his mind.

At around three a.m., Buffy kicked off her blanket and stole out into the kitchen. Perhaps some hot chocolate would help her sleep. She had big decisions to make in the morning and was no closer to knowing what to do than when she’d left home. Moonlight was streaming through the kitchen window and she didn’t need to put the light on. She was worried about waking the others.

"Buffy?"  
She spun round, almost dropping the carton of milk she was holding. "Jeez, Giles! What are you doing, lurking about at this time of night?"

Giles peered around theatrically. "Oh yes, my apartment, my kitchen, thought I might have sleep walked next door! I do live here, you know, Buffy."

"Sorry! Just jumpy. Can’t sleep. But will soon. Look, choclately goodness in a mug. Would you like some?"

"Ah, no. I have a very nice single malt here which is relaxing me after a rather stressful day." There was a long pause, then, "Willow told me about Spike and the parcel and what you asked her to do."

"Oh."

“I rather take it that you weren’t going to mention it to me?"

"I didn’t want to make a big thing of it."

"Buffy, credit me with some common sense," Giles snapped. "You change all our plans, fly across the Atlantic, want Willow to delve into the dark arts again, are obviously in a state of high anxiety and all because, yet again, of William the Bloody. It is a ‘big thing’ as you so succinctly put it."

Buffy took a sip of her drink. It coated her lips and as she tasted it, for a wonderful, mad second, she was back in Spike’s crypt one silly evening when they’d shared a big bar of candy after they’d made love and the chocolate had got everywhere, in all sorts of places and they’d lain their giggling as Spike insisted they had to lick it off each other ..... The sound of his laughter was so clear, she could have sworn he was standing in the room with her. But he was gone. And she was kidding herself. There had been a sweet, loving gift from her dead lover. But that was all there was. The rest was just her imagination.

"I’m sorry, Giles. I know you don’t understand. I can’t...I can’t explain. I realise I’m messing everything up for everyone. I’ll try and get myself sorted. I’ll start arranging for Dawn and me to travel on to Italy tomorrow."

She sat staring out at the moonlight after Giles had gone off to his bed, patting her fondly on the shoulder and telling her that he was sure she was making the right decision. Buffy turned with a sigh to finish her hot chocolate and stopped with it half way to her lips. Floating on the surface were little round marshmallows. Little white shapes that she hadn’t put there.

 

to be continued


	2. Falling into Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the destruction of Sunnydale, Buffy is in England, trying to start her new life. But she has received a parcel, via Clem. from Spike and she is convinced he is somewhere, trying to send her a message. 
> 
> Alone, late at night in Giles' kitchen, she has made hot chocolate to help her sleep. But perhaps she isn't as alone as she thinks....

NEVER ALONE by Lilachigh

Chapter 2: Falling Into Place 

 

Buffy froze - there, floating on top of her hot chocolate, were little white marshmallows. And unless she was going out of her mind, she knew they hadn’t been there moments before. She put down her mug with a jolt. Only one person she knew could have, would have - “Spike! Spike, is it you? Talk to me! Please, please talk to me.” She stared round the moonlit kitchen but there was nothing, no one. She could feel the bitter tears in her eyes and fought to keep them back. He wasn’t there: he would never be there again. She was alone and always would be.

In the cold light of next morning, Buffy’s fancies of the night before seemed just that - fanciful. As she stared out of the window at the perfect symmetry of the Royal Crescent in Bath, she decided that today had to be the first day of the rest of her life. If she didn’t put Spike and all her memories of him behind her, she would go slowly but surely mad.

She was the last person to get into Giles’ bathroom that morning and the room was steamy. She stood under the shower trying to wash away all her unhappiness. What had happened last night was simple, she reasoned. She’d just forgotten that she’d put the marshmallows in her cup of chocolate. She had so much on her mind, that wasn’t surprising. Or perhaps as he left the kitchen, Giles had slipped them in while she wasn’t looking. She stepped out of the shower and drew a face on the steamy bathroom mirror. A bony face with curly hair and an eyebrow with slash through it.

Asking Giles wasn’t an option. How could she say to him, ‘Oh Giles, did you mess with my drink last night, because if it wasn’t you, then I think Spike is somewhere trying to get my attention!’

Giles upping her sugar intake to help her put on weight was far more likely than some sort of ghostly intervention from a dead vampire. And if she ever discovered that Spike had been able to zoom around Giles’ kitchen sorting out marshmallows without speaking to her - well - she swiped the mirror clean with a towel - she’d kick his sorry ass all round England, ghost or not! But that wasn’t going to happen because Spike was dead. He’d died saving the world and as long as she kept saying that to herself, she’d be fine. She wouldn’t allow any other voices room in her head. That way she would stay sane, be in some sort of control.

Giles was bright and cheerful over breakfast. He was taking the three young potentials for a training session up on the hills behind the city and Dawn seemed happy to join them. Buffy was increasingly aware that her little sister was growing up fast, and becoming more and more independent with each passing day. And she was glad.

As a matter of urgency, Willow and Kennedy were busy researching a slime demon that had appeared in a local cemetery and were even reading over the breakfast table.

“What are you going to do today, Buffy?” Giles asked at last in his most pointed Watcher manner.

Buffy buttered her final piece of toast. “Oh, I’m ‘sort it out girl’ this morning,” she said, echoing his bright tone. “A quick explore round the city, then book our plane tickets for Italy,’” and was aware of the look of relief that crossed his face.

The apartment emptied quickly and Buffy went to find their passports. She vaguely remembered leaving them on Giles’ desk when they arrived. Tiptoeing into his little study, the one room he kept private, she smiled at the weird collections of books and strange looking objects scattered across it. The passports weren’t there, but on a shelf above the desk there was a row of framed photographs. She’d had no idea that Giles had taken these over the years. It was as if she was looking at stills from a home movie: there she was, very young, very silly, standing with Willow and Xander on the school steps, laughing; there was Kendra, reading a book, unaware that she was being snapped.

A beautiful one of Jenny , Oz playing at the Bronze, Xander with Anya, Willow and Tara dancing - she bet that one went down well with Kennedy! - and a little picture of herself and Faith, taken earlier in the year when they were trying to defeat the First, not aware that the camera was there, talking earnestly about something, both in their training gear, looking hot and sweaty. Buffy wondered briefly where Faith was at this precise moment. She and Robin Wood had headed for Cleveland to patrol the Hellmouth there. 

Faith - the word rang again in her head. Why on earth did she keep thinking about Faith? No, she realised slowly, it’s not the name Faith I’m thinking of, but having faith. Keeping the faith.

“You’re getting there, Goldilocks,” Spike’s voice sounded, this time closer, stronger. “Don’t waste any more time. I need you, Buffy.”

“Why not just tell me, you idiot?” she yelled out loud. “What am I supposed to do?”

Faith, it had something to do with - yes, Spike had had enough faith in her future to send her the parcel. He’d believed she would survive, believed in her. Then surely...she froze - was it that simple? “I have to believe he'll survive!” she whispered. ”I have to believe it without any doubts at all.”

Hurrying, she found her overnight bag. At the bottom, still wrapped in the brown paper was Spike’s red shirt and her old stuffed pig, Mr Gordo. Dawn had taken the picture of their mother and Buffy hadn’t had the heart to ask for it back. Buffy raised the shirt to her lips and kissed it. She could still smell leather and faint cigarette smoke on it. She’d worn it to bed the first night it arrived, wrapping it round her naked body, tying the sleeves tight, pretending it was his arms that held her. She’d slept well for the first time since.....since the end.

“I’ve got to send a sign. I don’t know who to, but someone, somewhere needs I sign that I believe. I’ve got to have faith.” It was as if the pieces of a jigsaw were finally falling into place. She sat for a moment. Send what? Even more important, send it where? Then, reluctantly, she picked up the battered Mr Gordo and a pair of sharp nail scissors....

Sitting with the scissors poised above the precious stuffed pig that Spike had miraculously returned to her, Buffy hesitated. She was quite convinced that she had to send a sign to someone, somewhere, that she had faith in Spike and believed that somehow he would return. He’d believed in her survival - he’d parcelled up the photo of her, her mother and Dawn and together with Mr Gordo, had posted them to be passed from demon to demon to find her after the end had happened. Well, she had nothing of Spike’s to send him, to show him how she felt, except -

She hesitated. She would have to admit something to herself that she’d buried in the very depths of her soul for years. Not so much a case of out of sight, out of mind, more like never ever, ever happened.

"Scared, Goldilocks?” came a sardonic voice inside her head.

Buffy squared her shoulders and sat up straighter. "Never!” she said aloud, her voice echoing round Giles’ empty apartment. "And if you ever mention this to anybody, ever, I will kill you all over again!”

She turned the pig over and cut gently through the stitches holding his tummy together. The material split open easily as if it had been cut and restitched before. Buffy wriggled two fingers inside and felt something crackling. Sheets of paper. She pulled the folded squares out and laid them on the table in front of her. She felt tears begin to burn her eyes and brushed them away, impatiently. Her fingers were trembling as she unfolded the thin sheets that she’d stored away years ago.

In front of her lay her wedding lists - the guests, the presents, big and small, and the seating plan, the details of flowers and bridesmaids, the music and all the food needed for the reception. All done for her and Spike‘s wedding - written with such love and enthusiasm when Willow had cast her little lust spell on them. "I was so happy,” she whispered, remembering.

When the spell had been broken and things had gone back to normal - or what passed for normal in those days - she’d sneaked back to Giles’ house when he was out and found the clipboard with all her lists pinned to it. She’d meant to tear them up, burn them, make some grand gesture in front of Spike to show him exactly how horrified she’d been to find herself kissing him, to discover they’d actually been engaged. But she hadn’t. She’d taken them home, and without even reading them again, she’d folded them up very small and hidden them inside Mr Gordo. And then she’d forced herself to forget they were there. Until now.

She smiled as she read them again. Spike had been right; she had asked for ‘Wind beneath my Wings’ for their first dance, but she’d forgotten that he’d wanted her to walk up the aisle to the theme tune from the X-Files. There was the seating plan, with Xander’s name being put in and crossed out and put in again, several times at various tables, getting further and further back away from the bride and groom. That was Spike’s writing. There was even a little scribble across the top of one sheet of paper that she translated as ‘Don’t forget to ask Riley to wedding.’

Ouch!

Buffy touched the lists again. She wanted desperately to keep them, but knew this was her sign of faith. Her way of showing whatever powers that be existed out there, that she did believe that Spike could come back to her. She found an envelope in Giles’ study and put the lists inside, then she hesitated over what to write as an address. She had to send her ‘faith gesture’ somewhere, otherwise it wouldn’t be a gesture. She had to believe that at the end of the day, Spike would one day see it, read the lists and know what she was still feeling.

She would have sent it to Clem, but had no idea where he would be. She wasn’t at all sure if ‘demon post’ worked across the Atlantic, and besides, she wasn’t too happy to go looking for one in the refined streets of Bath. She sighed. There was only one person she could trust with this - one person who would know what to do, and however much he hated the idea, would pass the package on to Spike - if he had survived. Angel.

Without stopping to think any further, Buffy scribbled his name and address on the envelope. She wrote ‘Please pass these on to Spike’ on a scrap of paper and put that inside with the lists. She glanced at the clock on Giles’ desk. The morning was racing past. She still had to sort out the plane tickets for her and Dawn to travel on to Italy.

The beautiful city of Bath was busy, the pavements crowded with tourists, admiring the architecture, heading for the Roman baths, the expensive shops, walking the streets that Jane Austen had mentioned in her novels, pointing out places to each other in excitement. And the travel agency was full to bursting; people were waiting five or six in line at each desk. Buffy groaned. "Why does everyone want to make their travel plans today?” she wailed out loud. "Giles will kill me if I don’t get these tickets organised. Oh - I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you?”

She’d turned too fast and knocked against a little old lady standing behind her in the doorway, almost sending her crashing to the floor. Buffy reached out and steadied her. "Hey, do you feel OK? Did I hurt you?” She gazed round, but no one else seemed bothered. "Can I get you a glass of water? Would you like to sit down?”

The old lady gave a dry little gasp. "Oh, thank you my dear. No, I’m not hurt, but just a little shaken. Would you mind if I sat on that seat over there for just a moment, just until I feel quite right.”

Buffy gently took her arm and led her across to a bench under some trees. The gentle shade was soothing. She sat down, too, knowing she couldn’t just walk away. 

"You’re an American, my dear, I can tell by your accent.”

"Yes, that’s right. I’m Buffy Summers. I’m from California.”

"Buffy - what an odd name. I’m Miss Lucilla McGregor. Beautiful weather I believe you have in California, and oranges grow there?”

Buffy laughed. "Yes they do, and we have smog sometimes and endless traffic in places, but it’s home.”

"And are you here on holiday?”

A shadow crossed Buffy’s face and she pulled the envelope out of her bag, to check it was still there. "No, my sister and I - well, we lost our mother a few months ago and then several - friends - in that earthquake I expect you read about. So we’re going to Italy for a while – I’ve got a job there. I was going to buy the tickets when I bumped into you.”

"But you’re not happy about going to Italy,” Miss McGregor said shrewdly.

"Oh yes, well, that is I was, but you see, there was this man...well, he wasn’t actually a man, I mean, he was...but, oh it’s very complicated. Anyway, he....he went away and I need to let him know, if he comes back, that is, that....” she stammered herself to a halt. 

Miss McGregor pulled a lace handkerchief out of her voluminous handbag and patted her pale cheeks. "And do you love this man?” she asked with interest.

Buffy bit her lip. "Yes,” she said softly. "But he doesn’t believe me. And he must.”

"And do you really believe he will come back?” 

There was a long pause, then, "I don’t know why I believe, but yes, I do. It’s as if...” she laughed nervously but somehow she could say things to this dear old soul that she could never have said to Willow or Giles. "It’s as if we’re connected by a sort of thread and although it’s worn very thin, it still hasn’t broken. I feel he’s lost and if I could just tug on the end of it, he’d come to me.”

"And is that letter for him?”

"Yes, I’m sending it to a – a friend to give to him if....when....”

"The Post Office closes very soon, dear, if you want it to go off today,” Miss McGregor said softly.

Buffy groaned. "Oh no. I need stamps and I simply must get these flights booked.”

The old lady gave a little cough. "I never married myself, but I have been in love and although I’m sure you can’t imagine a silly old woman like me feeling such things, I do know what great emotions can do to you.”

"Did he...did he die, in the War, perhaps?”

Miss McGregor smiled. "Oh no, my dear. He died...well, he died a long time ago. I met him when I was travelling abroad. It was a very fleeting romance. He was much enamoured at the time with another. They’d had an argument, we met at a party, I fell in love, he didn’t. It’s an old and very silly tale and I’m sure you don’t want to bother with it when you’re so preoccupied. Now, I hate to presume and I’m sure you have no reason to trust me with such an important errand, but I am going to the Post Office myself, to collect my pension, you know. It would be no problem at all to have your little package stamped and sent on its way.”

Buffy’s eyes shone with thanks. "Would you really? Geez, that would be great. Look, here’s some money. Could you send it airmail? I feel....I’ve been told...it needs to get there fast.”

"Too right, luv,” the voice in her head drawled.

Miss McGregor watched as the young American girl hurried back into the travel agency. So that was the Slayer. Well, well. She’d been told that there were many now, but this one was very lovely and so full of life, although her eyes were so sad. She could understand why William had fallen in love.... 

She swayed slightly as she recalled an evening sixty years before, oh how she’d loved him, had yearned for him to turn her, so she could be by his side. But he hadn’t. He’d refused, but ...she reached up and touched the scar that lay hidden beneath the high collar on her lace blouse. All she’d ever wanted was for him to be happy. The powers knew that and so she’d been given this task...

Buffy didn’t see when the frail hands opened the brown envelope, or when an ornate amulet she would have instantly recognised was taken from Miss McGregor’s bag and placed inside.

It was late when she came out of the travel agency with the tickets; the old lady had gone. The sun was setting and a little breeze ruffled her hair. The crowds had thinned and the rush hour traffic had died away. She sighed. In a few days she and Dawn would be heading east to Italy, about to begin a new life. It was what he’d wanted; one of the reasons he’d given his life.

Buffy turned her face towards the west, where she’d left her soul mate, her best friend, her heart – and wondered.

To be continued


	3. When in Rome...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spike has to make a big decision....

NEVER ALONE by Lilac High

 

Chapter 3 - When in Rome

 

Even at 3 a.m. in Rome, it isn’t usually quiet. There are always people around, drunk or sober, laughing or arguing. There is always traffic humming along somewhere. Rome never sleeps. Which made it even odder that when a hot whirling wind descended on part of the city, no one noticed, not even when into the dark night a man appeared, tight blonde curls covering his head, lurching out of the whirlwind, crashing to the ground. He struggled to his feet as the wind vanished, looking bewildered. “What the bloody hell - ”

“Don’t swear, William. You’re in Rome.” 

Spike gazed round wildly but there was no one there. “Who the hell are you? Where are you? Come out and fight, wanker. I’ll kill you!”

“William! William! Is this the thanks we get for bringing you back from the dead?”

Spike closed his eyes and tried to remember. Sunnydale, Apocalypse, Hellmouth, a sodding amulet, burning, - Buffy! “Buffy! Is she all right? Did she escape? And the lit’le bit? The Watcher?” Spike mouthed a silent prayer to a God he’d long ago forsaken. 

“Yes, all are well. The one they called Anya did not survive. A – close - acquaintance of yours, I believe. But Miss Summers is fine. She’s here.”

“What?” Spike’s mind whirled. Anya dead! And Buffy here! He glanced round wildly but there was no one in sight. He’d visited Rome many, many years before with Dru. He knew roughly where he was - Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain. Yes, there it was.

“She’s here in Rome,” the voice continued calmly. “She’s the reason why you’re here - well, one of the reasons. She believed in you. Believed you would survive in some fashion. She sent you - well, let’s say, we had a communication from her to you. And so we decided to let you survive. But now you have a choice to make, William.”

All Spike could think was that Buffy was alive and close by. “Can I see her?”

“You can see her, but at present she can’t see you. At the moment you’re in ghostly form. The jury is still out up here about whether you should ever get your fully human body back.”

Spike swore, but under his breath. That was the trouble with these ‘up here’ guys. Powers that you never saw, could never contact. They could twist you round, change your bloody life, even your death, in a blink, but did they ever ask you what you wanted to do? Did they hell! “So what’s this choice then?”

“Why don’t you visit Miss Summers first, then decide.”

Spike found himself suddenly standing on a balcony of a old Italian building. “Bleedin’ hell, you’re making me dizzy,” he snapped. The balcony was obviously outside a bedroom. Sheer white curtains floated in the breeze and he could smell her scent - oh god, he could smell her.

He felt he was walking forwards but couldn’t feel his feet touching the floor. There was a bed, canopied in the same sheer white and his girl lying there asleep, her hand curled round that stupid stuffed pig of hers. He smiled grimly. So his parcel had reached her. Clem and the other demons had come through for him. Trembling, he reached out, but his hand made no contact on her skin. Hell, couldn’t they have just let him touch her once more? Was that too much to ask? “She can’t hear me, can she?” he said quietly.

“No.” The voice saw no need to whisper. “She can’t hear or see you, William.”

Spike stared at the curve of her shoulder, the tousled blonde curls on the white pillow. He moved round the bed and stood gazing down at the face he loved beyond death. “She looks well. Far better than the last time I saw her, what with the fighting and killing and all.”

“Physically she’s as strong as she ever was. Miss Summers and her sister are busy with their new lives here in Italy.”

“Does she...does she ever think about me, talk about me?” 

“She thinks about you a great deal. She believes that some day, some way, she will see you again.”

Spike felt his hands clench into fists. He wished there was someone he could hit: it would make him feel so much better. “Then why don’t you let her?”

“That is all part of the choice you have to make. Miss Summers is, if not happy, contented. She is safe; her sister and friends are all safe. You can choose to be human again, here, tonight, and what happens between the two of you, well, will happen.”

Spike felt his nerves tingle. “Then yes, I choose that.”

“But - ” the voice went on, “you have older loyalties, William, an older ‘relative’ shall we say. Miss Summers doesn’t actually need you. Others do.”

With another blink Spike found himself back, sitting on the edge of the Trevi Fountain, the words ringing inside his brain. He didn't have to search long for the answer. "You mean that poofter Angel, don’t you?”

“Angel, Angelus, Liam - he has many names. He was even Miss Summers’ lover at one time, of course.”

Spike stared down at the water in the fountain. “And is he in danger - I hope!”

“The world is in great danger, William. He and his friends will try and stand against it, but he needs - he needs you. But you still have the choice. Miss Summers or Angel. It is up to you.”

Spike closed his eyes and rammed his fingers into the pockets of his duster, fingering the loose nickels and dimes that still clung to the fluff of ages. It was odd that he could feel the leather, but not the paving stones beneath his feet. There wasn’t really any choice, of course. Angel was family and although they’d loathed each other for years, family was family at the end of the day. And the end of the day seemed to come round a lot recently. Well, he’d saved the sodding world once this year - perhaps the second time would be easier!

But it wasn’t even that. His love for Angel wouldn't have been enough in itself, but if Angel died and Buffy ever found out Spike could have helped prevent that, what would that do to their - what was it - relationship, friendship, love? Whatever it was, it wouldn’t survive that. She’d said that she loved him, just as he was about to be consumed by fire, but he didn’t believe her.

“What was this communication she sent you?’”he asked, giving himself a few more seconds before giving his decision.

“It was, we felt, a statement of belief. The actual items were lists to do with a wedding, apparently between the two of you when you were living under a spell cast by the witch Willow.”

Spike smiled. He could remember those bloody lists. Flowers and bridesmaids and seating plans. He could also remember how happy he‘d been, how warm he’d felt holding her in his arms that day. For someone who was permanently cold, warmth was a treasure. He couldn’t believe she’d kept those lists. Where on earth had she put them? He thought she’d lost everything when the Hellmouth collapsed. She only had what he’d sent her in that parcel - right, the pig! They must have been inside the pig. And if she’d kept them hidden all those years, then perhaps she did feel, did love -

“There is no more time for thought, William. You have to decide now.”

Bloody Powers, always caught you on the hop. Always gave you choices that weren’t really there. Sometimes you had to play their game with them and of one thing Spike was quite sure - when it came to playing poker, he was better than any Powers could ever be. “So, if I choose to help Liam, will I remember any of this?” he asked.

“No.”

“Oh great. Well, okay, I’ll do a deal with you. I’ll go and tag along with Liam and his band of misfits and try and help, but only if you’ll let me have one minute of humanity, right here and now.”

There was a long silence. Spike stared down at the water in the fountain, waiting, hands clenched at his side.

“Agreed. One minute then you must go.”

Spike heard the wind roar round him again, but now he could feel the heat of it against his face, feel it tugging at his hair, taste it. He could smell the Italian night - lemons, garlic, petrol fumes, drains! - knew that he was alive again. And Buffy was so close and she would never know.

He turned his back on the fountain and with one swift movement, he threw the coin he’d found in his pocket over his shoulder. And as the wind changed back to carry him away once more, he heard the plop of it hitting the water in the Trevi Fountain. 

“I want to come back to Buffy one day,” he shouted.

And he smiled as his last thought was of the legend that said if you have a wish, you must say it out loud as you throw a coin over your shoulder into the Trevi fountain in Rome. Only then will it be granted.

To be continued


	4. Just a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buffy gets the news she has been dreading....

Never Alone by Lilachigh

 

Chapter 4 - Just a dream

 

Buffy was brushing her teeth when she knew. How prosaic was that - a mouthful of foam, hair screwed up on top of her head, just about to get under the dribble of water that the Italians called a shower before heading out to a nightclub. Not looking Buffy best, but then, there was no one to see her in the Italian apartment. Dawn was on holiday from school, back in England for a swift visit to see Giles. They’d got really close recently and Buffy was pleased. Junior Watcher, Dawn called herself, laughing, but Buffy had the feeling that was far closer to the truth than the younger girl knew.

She was absorbing knowledge from Giles at an incredible rate and gave orders to the new Slayers with ease, confidence and tact. It wasn’t the life that Buffy would have chosen for her, but she couldn’t deny she was good at it. So Buffy was alone in Rome, getting ready for a night out with new friends. Then, deep inside her she felt this - it was a strange sort of tug - that was the only way she could describe it. Just as if a piece of thread attached to her heart had been gently pulled. 

“Spike's alive!”

The toothbrush fell into the sink and she leaned her head against the mirror, feeling sick and shaky, her legs suddenly unable to hold her up. “Don‘t be so stupid!” she muttered out loud, pushing herself upright. “It’s your imagination. You’re getting as bad as Willow with her predictions and feelings and weirdness.”

She marched herself under the shower and ran it cold, scrubbing at her skin until it hurt but some marks, she knew, were indelible, scoring her soul. She stared at her hand under the running water. Odd to think it had once grasped Spike’s and burst into flame. Not a mark, not a scar, nothing she could cherish, just a memory.

Buffy knew one little bit of her had never given up hope completely that Spike would come back to her, but that was the part she’d locked away inside a box, inside a dungeon, inside a castle and never, ever looked at. But for all her determination during the day, at night her mind played tricks on her and she dreamed. Oh how she dreamed.... Of a time when they’d been happy, had laughed, touched, fought, shared, made love, and she’d felt complete, fulfilled and never ever realised it until it was too late. She dreamed of a man who had aspired to be better, who’d gone searching for his soul, not been given it. Had dealt with all that life and death had thrown at him and still come out a champion at the end. Her champion.

She’d had a dream the night before, a wonderful, erotic, marvellous dream. She‘d been lying in bed and he’d been there, standing by her side. He’d touched her face, gently lifted a curl from her cheek with infinite love. She’d rolled over, opening her eyes with a warm smile, holding out her arms to clasp him to her aching breasts - but the room had been empty. Just a dream.

“And that’s all it ever will be,” she thought.

But as she steadfastly got ready to enjoy herself, to go on with her life - because that was what he’d wanted her to do - she wondered if the tug on her heart would ever come again.

And she dreamed.....

Months later………..

“Buffy, will you please concentrate!” Giles sounded more than impatient. He sounded cross and there was nothing like a cross Watcher to get her attention. “We’ve got to check and double check all these details about new Slayers before you go back to Rome. So far I’ve done twelve and you’ve done - ” He peered over the top of his glasses, “Two.”

“Two and a half,” Buffy said hastily, pulling the papers out of the folder next on the pile in front of her. “But it’s a big half!” She felt guilty. She knew she’d been day-dreaming, but she’d felt odd all day, couldn’t keep her mind on her work, kept drifting off into fantasy worlds that would never be.

“Anyway, Giles, this is so boring. If I’d known that getting Willow to make all the potentials real Slayers would mean all this paperwork, I might have had second thoughts! Buffy and forms are not very getty-ony. Why do we need all these details? Bank account numbers? What if they don’t have bank accounts? What if they don’t have any money? Some of them are only little girls!”

“Shall I make a big board?” Andrew looked up hopefully from where he and Dawn were struggling to translate a very old parchment Giles had discovered recently under his bed.

“No, Andrew! No big boards,” Buffy snapped. She still wasn’t sure why Andrew had had to come with her and Dawn from Italy to England. Somehow over the past few weeks he seemed to have become part of her family in a very weird, what-on-earth-shall-we-do-with-Andrew-oh-he-can-live-with-Buffy-and-Dawn way. OK, he and Dawn got on well together - not, thank goodness in a romantic fashion, but in a geeky older brother and teenage sister style. They argued endlessly about which TV channel to watch, which films were cool, which pop stars trendy.

Strangely though, Buffy was glad that he was there in Rome to hang out with Dawn when she was busy travelling. And as Dawn said, having someone else around who knew where she’d come from was sort of comforting. Only recently she’d told Buffy in a moment of confession that she couldn’t see herself ever having a long term relationship or marriage. How could she explain to a boyfriend that she was originally a ball of green energy! Not a good chat up line! So Andrew was useful.

But ever since he’d come back from America with the rogue Slayer, and had let slip about Spike being back, living with Angel, Buffy hadn’t been able to feel easy in his company. She was deeply embarrassed to remember how she‘d quizzed him over and over again about Spike. He’d actually spoken to him, touched him. How did he look? Was he well? How had he come back? Did he mention Buffy at all? She’d sent a letter to him. Had he ever received it? How was he getting on with Angel? Why hadn’t they killed each other by now? How friendly was he with that Fred girl? On and embarrassingly on.

Yes, Andrew had seen Spike in Los Angeles and again in Rome. Had seen him and had helped her make, probably, the most idiotic decision of her whole life - getting him to tell Spike that she wanted him to move on with his life. Even now she felt sick with the stupidity of her actions. But she’d been so angry with Spike for not contacting her, and so desperately upset. One long Italian night, she’d lain in bed in an agony of despair, mental and physical, aching for him, bewildered that he’d made no effort to come to her. And as another hot Roman day dawned in a clash of scarlet and gold, she’d had to face the fact that he didn’t want to see her. Couldn’t care less about her. Had probably never loved her.

A cold stone settled on what remained of her heart and she got up that morning, a far more cynical, bitter Buffy. Because she had to admit to herself that every man she’d been close to in her entire life had moved on when it suited them. Left her because she wasn’t enough for them. Her father, Angel, Parker, Riley - even Xander in a different way. Oh, he’d been full of plans for them all to stay together. The gang of four, he called them. He’d been going to get badges printed! But then a big building contract had come up in New York and he’d been on the first plane north.

But somehow Buffy had always believed in Spike. In his feelings for her. Well, there was no fool like a Summers fool. In her heart of hearts, she knew her torrid fling with the Immortal had been her way of saying, “Look at me, you idiot! I don’t need you. I can have any man I want.”

Of course she’d known he and Angel were in the nightclub that evening in Rome. God, how she’d known. Every nerve ending had screamed in unison. She’d been going to turn round, make a big smoochy fuss of the Immortal, make them both suffer - Angel for not telling her Spike was back - but most of all Spike for lying about his love for her. But when she’d turned round, all sexy eyed and glossy lipped, her arms draped round the Immortal’s neck, they’d gone, and it was all too late.

“Buffy, you’re day-dreaming again,” Giles said with a sigh. “Look, why don’t you go out for a walk. Clear your head. I’ll finish up here. I’m sure Dawn and Andrew will help me.”

Buffy smiled at the groans that greeted this remark and grabbing her jacket, let herself out into the soft English evening. They were staying at Giles’ apartment in Bath and she loved walking round the Regency town that was so different to the small American life of Sunnydale or the vast roaring city of Rome. Her cell phone rang, making her jump because someone or someones - had reprogrammed the ring tone to a blare of the opening bars of the Star Wars theme. “I’ll kill them,” she muttered as she flipped open the lid.

“Sounds like my girl.”

She froze in her tracks. It was Angel. “Not your girl,” she said automatically.

“Right. Not yet. Still waiting.”

“No,” she whispered. “Never.”

“What was that? Can’t hear. Buffy, listen.” She realised his voice sounded dreadful, hoarse and tired. “There’s been a battle - huge. We’ve lost - we’ve lost Wesley and others. My friends.” His voice broke.

“Spike?” She’d never known before what people meant when they said your blood froze in your veins, but now she did. She sat down on a low garden wall, her legs unable to hold her any longer. 

“I should have known you wouldn’t care about Wes.” Angel sounded bitter.

“Angel, just tell me.” Her voice sounded odd, very old. As if it belonged to someone else. The world had gone very dark and she had the strangest feeling that it would stay this way forever. But, not dead, not dead, not dead, rang through her brain. I would know if he was dead, she told herself fiercely. I didn‘t give him permission to die again!

“Buffy, that’s part of why I rang. I need you to tell Giles about Wesley but also, I thought you should know - I can’t find Spike. He’s gone.”

“Do you mean - ” she couldn’t get the words out and had to try again - “What do you mean, gone? Like in - staked?”

"No, I don’t think so. God, Buffy, it was horrific. There was a dragon! But Spike’s just not here now. I can’t sense him anywhere in L.A.”

“Another dimension?”

The connection crackled and hissed. “You’re breaking up,’” she heard Angel shout. “He’s just not here and I thought - well, I thought you should know. Listen, tell Giles and - remember, I - ”

The line went dead. Buffy snapped the flip lid down on her phone and sat, staring into space. She was shivering - one minute cold, the next burning hot. He couldn’t be dead! Why hadn‘t Angel looked out for him? He was his sire, or grandsire, or something. Family, anyway. He should have looked out for him. Spike had probably done something stunningly stupid and...and...and what? Her eyes were burning and the tears that trickled down her face stung like acid against her cheeks. She stood up and gazed towards the western sky. The sun had set hours ago. It was late now, dark, soft and velvety black sky above her. It would be afternoon still in California; their day had hours to go yet. She gave a grim little smile. At least since the Hellmouth had vanished she’d learnt about international date lines and time differences.

Buffy dragged her sleeve across her eyes. No more tears. She’d shed enough over William the Bloody to last several life times. She began walking swiftly back to the apartment. No, the time for crying was past. Spike wasn’t going to suddenly appear and make everything better. 

“Stupid vampire,” she muttered. “He’s not dead, he’s just lost. Such a Spikey thing to do. He never had any sense of direction. I could always find him in Sunnydale. I could always find him anywhere!”

She froze, key in hand, as an idea blazed through her brain, then she slammed through the door and stood, hands on hips, gazing at the startled faces in front of her. “I’m going to California,” she said, eyes blazing. “There’s something I’ve got to do!”

to be continued


	5. The Bad Penny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy has returned to America to search for a missing vampire. Only when she has found him will she be able to move on with her new life.

Never Alone by Lilachigh

 

Chapter 5 The bad penny

 

The car came thundering down the highway in the midnight dark, swerving slightly from side to side, the headlights veering off to illuminate bushes and trees, catching the eyes of small animals crouching at the side of the road.

“Gas station - must find a gas station,” the driver muttered in horror. She’d promised Giles and the others that she would be sensible and take every precaution if she hired a car. They’d been horrified when she’d told them she was flying to Los Angeles to find Spike, but had been reassured finally because they were certain Angel would drive her wherever she wanted to go.

Buffy thumped the steering wheel in frustration. Angel! Oh he’d been a real help, a real prince. Fighting this latest apocalypse seemed to have drained him of all emotion. Whatever had happened in Los Angeles had left the city looking battered in some areas and devastated in others. He wouldn’t speak much about what had happened. So many friends had died. He was flying to Tibet, he told her. He needed to get away and find himself again. Did she want to come with him?

“Angel, I’ve come to find Spike,” she said softly, trying not to lose her patience.

“He’s gone.”

She resisted the urge to punch him on the nose. “I know. What happened to him? I know he’s not dead.’”

“How do you know?” A faint frown appeared on his forehead.

“I just do. And be honest, Angel, so do you. There is no way you wouldn’t know if he was dead.”

“Buffy – ” he looked up at her from where he was slumped in a chair and she winced at the pain in his eyes. A few years ago it would have broken her teenage heart to see him like this. But now - she’d been there, done that, got the T-shirt.

“I lost sight of him towards - towards the end - people were dying everywhere - the blood, the noise, the screaming - God, Buffy, I’ve experienced a lot in all these centuries, but never anything like that.” He fell silent until she quietly urged him to go on, trying to break through the despair.

“Spike was fighting a huge demon; it was dark red, scaley, ugly thing with wings. He was winning, I thought. All fists and fangs, typical Spike - Then he vanished. It might have carried him off. I think, I think I saw it flying away, but I’m not certain. There were so many. Sorry. But you know what he's like, he’ll turn up like the proverbial bad penny.”

And that had been that. He’d had very little more to say. The brooding grief that surrounded him closed down once more. He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t ask about Giles or the Scoobies; he seemed completely disinterested. At her pleading, he gave her car keys, but didn’t bother to query her current driving ability.

So here, she was, on the road, heading - well, there had only been one direction to drive. Towards Sunnydale. She couldn’t have explained why. But something was pulling her in that direction. And that something had to be Spike. “Stupid car, stupid vamp, getting lost, all his fault. If I break down out here, I’ll blame him. I’ll kick his sorry ass all round the world once I get my hands on it!” God, she felt so hot, even the thought of him could make her squirm like a lovesick teenager. If only he was here! 

But her engine stuttered now and she groaned. She’d been so busy trying to drive well, that she’d sort of forgotten to put gas in the tank. “At last.” A sign shone out in the dark - a gas station. Buffy swerved the car towards the pumps.

“Are you going far?” the elderly guy asked when she went to pay. 

“Sunnydale.”

He looked up sharply. “That’s a rough place for a young lady. Are you staying with friends?”

Buffy shook her head. “I used to live there - before . I heard they’re rebuilding it.”

The attendant nodded as he gave her change. “Yup. They levelled the whole place after the earthquake and now houses and shops, banks and schools - all going up, more and more every day. But that means there’s a really rough crowd of people around. Just be careful. Find a nice motel and don’t go out too much after dark.”

“Do you get many people stopping who are heading for Sunnydale? I’m looking for a man. Thin, very blond, blue eyes, might have cuts and bruises. Probably wearing a black leather coat. He’d have been here after dark.”

The guy shook his head. “Nope. No one I recognise.”

Buffy got back in the car and sighed wearily. Was she on a fool’s errand? Why was she so certain Spike had come this way? There was no clear answer. She just knew in her heart that the link that bound them still existed and was pulling her in a certain direction. She’d felt it all the way across the Atlantic, even as they flew across the American continent. Drawing her, pulling her, a slender thread refusing to break.

She lay back, leaning against the head-rest. Now she was nearly there, she realised she had no idea what she was going to say to Spike if she did find him. “Hi, how ya doing?” didn’t seem to be enough, somehow. And “you stupid, thoughtless idiot! Why didn’t you ring me when you came back from the dead?” seemed even less appropriate.

She smiled to herself. She remembered watching an old Second World War movie at Giles’ once. A Bridge Too Far, it had been called. Well, this last one in Los Angeles had been an apocalypse too far, she thought. It made their silly, petty arguments seem ridiculous. He'd given up everything to save the world - twice now. She knew exactly how that felt. When she’d returned - or rather when she‘d been dragged back by Willow’s spell - he had been the only person there for her. Buffy sighed. How she would have loved to have been there for him when he returned from the dead. She envied that girl called Fred, even though she too, was gone now, because she’d been able to look after him a little.

“I just need to know he’s OK, that's all. If he is, and doesn’t want to be friends, well, okay, I’ll just turn round and head home. I’m not going to make a scene and push in where I’m not wanted. But I have to see him before I can move on and make a new life for myself.” She drove on, biting her lip so hard she could taste blood. Not wanted. Those words rang inside her brain. Was that what she would find if they met again? Was that why he’d never contacted her when he’d come back?

Then she remembered the parcel he’d sent her all those weeks ago. A parcel he’d arranged for her to receive after he’d gone. Her stuffed pig, Mr Gordo, and a photo of Dawn and her mother - two things she’d never thought to see again. Was that the action of a man who didn’t want her? Buffy’s foot pressed down harder on the gas pedal. In reply, she’d sent him their wedding lists - silly, sentimental lists from the time when they’d been planning to marry under another of Willow’s spells.

What had she been trying to prove? “That I had faith in him,” she whispered, hypnotised as the white line of the road flared out in front of her, the dark rushing past in great swoops of sound. “Faith that he would come back to me one day.” She blinked as hot tears burnt her eyes and dashed them away angrily. She would not cry any more. But it was too late. It had only take that one moment’s lack of concentration at the speed she was driving and she felt the car begin to skid, sliding away, out of her control. 

She braked hard, trying to remember if she was supposed to steer into or out of the skid. There was a loud bang and the car jolted to a halt. Buffy opened the door and clambered out, shaking. “Sorry, Giles, sorry Dawn, sorry Willow,’”she muttered, then realised, guiltily but thankfully, that they would never need to know, otherwise she knew Giles would fly out on the next plane.

The air was chill and she shivered in the thin top that had seemed just right in LA.. She was obviously too used to the heat in Rome. A little chill air and she was shivering. She could smell sand and the tang of lemons. She would have known with her eyes shut exactly where she was. She walked forward a few yards to the top of the slope and gazed down at a few twinkling lights where once there had been hundreds. She was home! And to make matters certain, she realised she’d just knocked over a large sign that read, ‘WELCOME TO SUNNYDALE’. 

Cheerfully, Buffy got back in the car and carefully reversed it onto the road. It seemed okay, and she didn’t seem to have left any bits of it on the highway. She shivered again and turned on the heater and the CD player. All she wanted now was to find a motel and get a good night’s sleep. She didn’t know what she would find in Sunnydale, but, by heaven, she would cope whatever it was. If Spike was anywhere within a hundred miles radius, she would find him. Nothing was going to stop her. She was home and like Scarlett O'Hara, tomorrow was another day.

The dark closed in as the tail lights of the car vanished down the hill. For a minute there was complete silence, then, from behind a tree, a dark figure appeared. Dirty, dusty boots limped across the road and strong pale hands reached out to effortlessly lift the sign upright again. Deep blue eyes gazed curiously after the departing car. An old scar cut through one eyebrow and a new one slashed across his forehead cutting the other in two. The high cheekbones were bruised and the mouth was twisted by continual pain.

For a second the man hesitated. Sunnydale was not a good place for a young woman like that to visit, especially a young woman with tumbling blonde hair, wearing a thin silk top that showed the outline of her breasts. Perhaps he should have said something. Then he shrugged and turned away. He didn't care. She could take care of herself. It was, after all, none of his business.

Buffy woke the next morning to light streaming in through the windows where the thin curtains didn’t quite meet. She stretched, yawned and gazed round the dismal little motel room. It had been the first one she’d come to as she drove into where Sunnydale used to be. It hadn’t looked very inviting, but she knew she was tired and her driving was getting more and more erratic. She owed it to Dawn not to crash and hurt herself, so sleep was important. The guy at the reception desk had stared at her as if she was an alien. He’d booked her in, then leant right over the desk to give her a key, peering down the front of her top as he did so. She’d had a wild desire to hit him, but instead had gone to her room and fallen asleep on top of the sticky bedcover, fully clothed, but not before she’d stuck a chair under the door handle.

The shower cubicle hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, but the water was warm and if she stood very still and didn’t touch the sides, she felt at least half clean. “Jeez, Spike, I hope all this is worth it,” she muttered. “If I find you’re OK and have gone off to Peru or Bermuda or somewhere on holiday, I’ll – I'll -!” She couldn't find words to expess how angry she felt.

Outside, the sun was hot in a glaring white sky. Buffy stared around as she headed for the car. She had no idea where she was in Sunnydale. There was no point of reference. The ground stretched before her, the road running blackly out across what looked like flat, stony earth, heading for the hills, a couple of miles away. There were no trees or bushes, but in the distance she could see a cluster of buildings.

“Aiming to stay here long?” It was the guy from reception, standing far too close. She could smell the sweat from his armpits and see the moisture on his thick lips as he licked them. But he was human. Not a demon or a vampire. That was a plus, surely.

Buffy stepped back a pace or two. “I’m looking for someone. A man, thin, blond, blue eyes. Might look as if he’d been in a bad fight."

The guy rasped at the beard growth on his chin with a dirty thumbnail. “Well, now, looking for a guy? What’s he done. Got you knocked up? ”

“What? No!”

“Well, then, good looking gal like you, coming to a town like this, looking for some lovin’, maybe. I can always oblige. You just have to ask nicely.” He stretched out a hand to touch her and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back in the dirt, with the tiny blonde standing over him, eyes flashing hazel fire down on him.

“OK! OK!” He rolled over to escape and stood up, stunned, rubbing his head where her fist had collided with his ear. “Only trying to help,” he whined.

“If you’re an example of what Sunnydale is going to be, then it’s a pity they didn’t leave it as an earthquake site. Now, tell me. Have you seen a man like I described.”

The man dropped his gaze. “Well, yeah.”

“You have?” Buffy couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “Where? When?”

“Couple of nights ago. There’s a bar in the new part of town - it’s called - ”

"Willie’s!" Buffy finished for him, delighted. Trust Willie to be in at the beginning of a new town when there would be loads of construction guys with loads of money around.

'Yeah. Willie’s. You know it?“ The guy sounded puzzled.

"Oh yes. And that’s where you saw the blond man?”

The guy shrugged. "Well, there was a thin guy in there. Bit cut about the face. Could be the one you’re looking for.“

Buffy felt her heart begin to pound faster. Willie’s bar, a man with a cut face. It had to be Spike! She didn’t bother with thanks, just raced for her car. Willie would know. He always did.

The motel guy stood staring after the car. He spat on the ground. Bitch! Caught him unawares. But stronger than she looked. Well, he’d cooked her goose for her. She could drive straight on to Willie’s for all he cared. Straight into hell.

Buffy drove slowly down the road, trying hard to work out exactly where she was. But it was impossible. Surely this was the turn off to the mall, but there were just heavy earth moving machines and a deserted wilderness covered in bits of metal, bricks and rubble, the remains of Sunnydale. She felt tears begin to rise in her eyes and blinked them away. Down there, under all that mess were the graves of her mother and Tara. She only hoped they were buried deep in the earth where nothing could harm them.

A mile on and there were the first signs of rebuilding - raw timber, bricks, roofing - all stacked in piles. She braked as she reached a junction. The main road ran on ahead, but down to her left she could see buildings - hopefully the ones she’d spotted from the motel. “OK, do I go on or turn?” She had a feeling that what used to be Revello Drive was ahead of her, but she wasn’t ready to go there yet. First she had to find Willie’s bar.

She swung the car left with a screech of tyres and jolted down the uneven track. Here the devastation seemed even worse, but at least there was some signs of civilisation. Driving slowly she reached a cluster of new buildings. And there, right on the edge was a low, ramshackle hut with a sign, hand-painted in red, slung crookedly above the door. WILLIE’S.

Buffy pulled over and braked. The sun had gone in and heavy thunder clouds were building in the west. Lightning flashed miles away, cutting the dark sky in two - it was going to rain. She also realised that there was no one around; the place seemed deserted. She glanced at her watch. OK, it was ten in the morning, surely someone should have been around. Where was everyone?

She got out and immediately the nerves on the back of her neck started to tingle. Vampire! She spun round, her face lighting up in expectation. But there was nobody there. She searched the shadows between the buildings on the far side of the street and thought she saw movement. But then all was still again. “No vampire is going to be out in the daylight,” she muttered, cross with herself. What had she expected - for Spike to come running towards her, arms outstretched in welcome? He might have a soul but he was still a vampire.

She walked up to the bar and tried the door. It was locked. Buffy banged hard with her fist but there was no reply. “Willie! Willie! Open the door!” She could hear a scuttling movement inside and suddenly she was angry. She’d come all this way and Willie wasn’t going to stop her finding Spike. She kicked out hard, using all her Slayer strength and the lock splintered and the door burst open. “Willie!”

“B-b-buffy? I didn’t realise it was you.” Willie’s head popped up from behind the bar. “G-g-good to see you. But what on earth are you doing here, Slayer?”

“It’s Sunnydale - I lived here. Closed the Hellmouth, remember. So what are you doing back, Willie?”

He shrugged and wiped at the bar with a filthy cloth, not meeting her gaze. “Got to go where the business is good, Slayer. Lot of building going on. Thirsty customers. Insurance paid out on my old bar. So here I am. All perfectly legal.”

Buffy stared at him in amazement. “You had building insurance?” Willie had paid insurance premiums!! She shook her head in disbelief. She’d had none on her home. She hadn’t been able to afford it in the Doublemeat days and when the First arrived on the scene, an insurance policy had been the last thing on her mind. “So – moving past the bewildered incredulity bit - you came back to Sunnydale,” she said. “Right, well, you’re just the man I want Willie. I’m looking for Spike.”

“Spike?” Willie’s head shot up and he dropped the filthy cloth. “Spike’s dead, Buffy. You know that. He died in the Hellmouth.”

“Well, yes, he did, but believe me, he’s very much alive now. Have you seen him.”

“No.”

Buffy reached across the bar and effortlessly lifted the little man clear of the floor with one hand. She pushed the other clenched fist into his face. “I won’t ask twice, Willie.”

“No, honest. Ouch! You’re hurting me. I haven’t seen him! And Buffy, you really shouldn’t hang around here. Sunnydale’s a rough place these days. Are you on your own? Where‘s the gang you used to go round with?”

Buffy let him drop. She’d been getting information out of Willie for enough years to know when he was telling the truth. He hadn’t seen Spike. She felt a sick wave of disappointment flood through her: she'd been so sure he would have found his way to Willie’s bar if he’d been anywhere in the area.

“Buffy, you’ve got to get the hell out of here. There are a lot of nasties around. It’s not like the old days. They run in packs. They won’t be scared of a Slayer, believe me.”

Buffy sighed and walked to the broken door. “I’ve been listening to words like that for years, Willie. If you see Spike - ” she stopped, not sure what she wanted him to say - “If you see Spike, tell him I’m looking for him.” She walked outside and froze. The sky had grown darker while she was inside and the thunder was rumbling directly overhead and even as she stood there, there was a flash of lightning and the heavens opened.

Buffy started to run for her car, then came to a halt. Dark shapes were emerging from the alleyway across the street. The rain blinded her and she peered through the silver lancing curtain, not sure of what she was looking at. The shapes didn’t seem human, they seemed to roll and ooze across the ground towards her. Her hand flashed to her belt and pulled out a stake. Let them come! She was ready for a good fight.

Just then there was a screeching of tyres and a little red car skidded to a stop, splattering her with mud. The window was wound down and a familiar, worried looking face gazed out at her. “Buffy! Get in! Quick! We’ve got to get out of here!”

 

to be continued


	6. "I can bring him back!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buffy returns to Sunnydale and meets old friends - possibly!

Never Alone by Lilachigh

 

Chp 6 “I can bring him back”

As lightning flashed, cutting through the dark clouds, Buffy leapt for the passenger door of the little red car and hurled herself inside, grabbing for her seat belt as it accelerated through the mud and pouring rain, away from Willie’s Bar.

“Clem! It is you! Oh it’s so good to see you. What on earth are you doing here? You were in New York when you brought me Spike’s parcel.” She smiled up at the wrinkly, crinkly face of her favourite demon. “And what in all of holy were those black shadow things back there? Demons? They weren’t vampires. And what about my car? I can't just abandon it.”

Clem looked worried. “This is a bad area for you to be in, Buffy. This side of the new Sunnydale is rough. Well, more than rough - it’s, well, I’ll explain later. We live on the other side, close to where Revello used to be.”

“We? Clem - do you mean you and Spike!” Her heart lifted and she felt bubbles of pure happiness burst through her veins. “Is he really here?”

The lightning flashed again and Clem swung the car sharply round a huge pot hole in the road, the skin on his arms swinging madly. “No, I didn’t mean Spike.”

“Oh.” Disappointment tasted bitter in her mouth. “So he’s not here in Sunnydale. Willie said he hadn’t seen him either. That’s why I’ve come. I just need to know he’s alive. He vanished from L.A. during the big battle. Angel told me. I thought...I was sure he’d be here.”

She gazed out through the windscreen at the lashing rain. All this way and no Spike. It was hard to take. Why did she feel so strongly that he was close by? For years she’d always had exactly the same feeling whenever he was within range. Once she’d thought it was because she hated him so much, now - she knew she loved him and their awareness of each other was so strong it could never be wiped out. She sighed. She would have to go back for her car and drive off to look somewhere else. But where? 

It was incredibly difficult to work out whereabouts in Sunnydale they were now; but at least the mud had vanished and the road under the wheels was surfaced. There were new houses and yards, and even a church being built.

Clem swung the car round a corner and drove between the metal struts of what was apparently going to be a shopping mall. At the far end he stopped and got out. Buffy followed him down a flight of metal steps to where a basement level was being excavated.

‘Xander ought to be here,’ she thought. ‘He’d make a fortune with all this construction work going on.’

Clem knocked on a door at the end of a short corridor and it opened swiftly. Buffy stepped back, startled, as a small demon hurled itself out and grabbed Clem round the knees. “Dad! Dad!”

Clem bent and lifted the youngster up into his arms. The child, who was the image of Clem, gazed at Buffy with curious bright eyes, then buried his head under a fold of his father’s skin. “This is Tosh. He’s a little shy,” Clem said proudly.

“Clem! You’ve got a son.” Buffy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The toddler’s skin was far tighter than Clem’s. Obviously the wrinkly effect happened as he grew older.

“And this is Elsa, my wife. Elsa, this is Buffy, the er, the Slayer I’ve told you about. But a great girl. Gives cool parties.”

A much smaller demon, wearing a bright red dress, approached Buffy very nervously, holding out a wrinkly hand . 

Buffy smiled in delight. “Hi, Elsa. I’m sorry to arrive out of the blue like this, but Clem sort of rescued me from Willie’s.”

“Hello, Buffy. You’re very welcome. Clem’s talked about you a lot and the old days in Sunnydale before you closed the Hellmouth. You don’t want to go near that part of town where Willie has his bar. It’s a bad area.”

Clem put down the toddler and fussed around producing packets of chips and nibbles, pouring coffee, making sure Buffy was sitting in the most comfortable chair. Tosh had sidled up to her legs, staring up at her, and without thinking, Buffy leant over and pulled him onto her lap where he curled up, playing with her long blonde hair.

“I don’t understand, Clem,” she said wearily. “Why did you come back here? And what’s happening to Sunnydale? The Hellmouth is closed so why should there be a good and bad side of town again? Were they demons, those black shadowy things?”

Clem sipped a beer. He looked worried. “Buffy, I don’t know. We didn’t like New York and I wanted to come home. I thought Sunnydale would be good place for Tosh to grow up, especially with the Hellmouth closed. But when we got here, we found the Shades, those black shadows, were here.” He gazed around nervously, in case someone was listening and lowered his voice. “Some people say they came out of the Hellmouth during the battle, but they’re not worried by light and they don’t die. They’re very dangerous. But if you stay clear of that side of town, you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not here to kill anything, Clem. I’m just trying to find Spike. I can’t believe he’s dead. I’d know it if he was. He’s just - lost - and I’ve got to find him.” She bent her head to tickle Tosh, smiling as the baby demon giggled up at her and missed the glance Clem sent his wife.

“Hey, Buffy. Bet you’ve got loads of guys running after you in Italy and all those foreign places. And how’s Dawnie? Growing up fine? And Xander and Willow. ”

Buffy laughed. “Dawn’s great. She loves Italy. She still remembers you, Clem, how kind you were to her when - well, you know! She’ll be thrilled to learn about Elsa and Tosh.”

Clem nodded and twirled his fingers nervously together. “So you’ll be going back to Italy now you can’t find Spike?”

Buffy frowned. “I’ve only just got here, Clem. You sound as if you’d be happier if I left right away.”

“No. No! Welcome to stay. We’ve got a spare bed. I’ll go and get your car tomorrow. Have a drive round, see what they’re doing in Sunnydale before you head off home. How about some more chips, have a cookie, Elsa cooks them herself.”

Buffy gently put Tosh down on the floor. “Clem!” she said suspiciously. “What‘s up? You sound nervous. Why do you want me out of here?” A cold chill ran across her body. “It’s Spike, isn't? Do you know where he is, Clem? You said you didn’t!”

Clem looked even more nervous. “No, I just said he wasn’t - it wasn’t Spike who was living with me.”

Buffy stood up, the shivers chasing themselves over her body in wave after wave. “So he is here in Sunnydale? You do know where he is?  Clem tell me!” She stared at her favourite demon who was still refusing to speak. In despair, Buffy turned to Elsa. “Please, I know you don’t know me very well, but please, tell Clem he has to let me know where Spike is.”

“It won‘t do you any good, Slayer,” Clem said at last.

“What do you mean? He’s not...he’s not dead.”

“No, but - ”

“Injured. Oh heavens, Clem, I’ve seen him tortured almost to death by the First. I brought him back from that, I can bring him back from anything.”

“Well, he has been injured. Obviously been in a bad fight. Got a bad scar down his forehead - sorry, ” he added as Buffy winced.

His beautiful face, she thought. But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered as long as he was here and she could speak to him.

“But that’s not the problem.”

“Well what is?”

Clem sighed, exchanged another look with his wife then turned to Buffy. “OK, Slayer. I didn’t want to upset you. There’s no point meeting him, you see. I thought it best you just remember him as he was.”

Buffy swallowed, feeling a bitter sickness rise in the back of her throat. “Is he, is he insane again, like he was when he came back from Africa?”

But Clem just shook his head and beckoned her to follow him. In silence they walked back through the echoing cavern of the basement under the half built mall. At the far end another metal door led into a maze of small storage rooms. At one Clem stopped and knocked.

“Go away. I’m busy!”

Liquid fire ran through Buffy’s veins. She would have recognised that voice among a million. He was alive! He wasn’t lost any more. She’d said she would find him and she had. Her soul mate, her best friend, her lover. Without thinking, she turned the handle and flung open the door.

Spike was sprawled on a narrow bed, reading; bare-chested, bare footed, his hair a tangled riot of curls tipped peroxide blond at the end of dark honey. He looked up at her and her breath caught in her throat. The blue eyes were as scorching sapphire as ever but there was an ugly scar that ran from his hair line diagonally down across the eyebrow that wasn’t already scarred. Miraculously it ended just under the dark eyebrow and hadn’t touched his eye.

“Hey demon, what does it take to get it through your thick, wrinkly skull. I told you yesterday to leave me alone. And your lady friend obviously doesn’t know the meaning of the words ‘go away.’”

“Spike?” Buffy whispered.

The vampire threw down his book. “That name again! Give it a rest, luv. My name’s William, and I’m trying to read, so will you please take your demon boyfriend and go away!”

to be continued


	7. Treading on the Dark Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buffy finds Spike, only to lose him again.

Never Alone by Lilachigh

 

Chp 7: Treading on the Dark Side

 

Buffy stood very still, staring at the vampire lying on the bed in this tiny, basement room, her mind a whirling kaleidoscope of thoughts. The last time she’d seen him in the Hellmouth he’d been consumed with fire, the pendant’s magical light killing everything it touched. Now - He’s alive, he’s here, I found him, he doesn’t recognise me, how can he not know me. he’s alive, oh, thank you God, thank you God, he’s alive!

“Clem - ?”

“Yes, Buffy,” the wrinkly demon whispered hoarsely in her ear. "He’s been like this since, well, since he turned up in town. He doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know what happened to him. Doesn’t even know his name is Spike. Calls himself William. I - I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to be upset. I thought you’d just return home and forget... Perhaps we should go.”

“You go,” she said quietly, never taking her eyes off the figure on the bed.

“When you two have quite finished your sodding conversation, remember this is my room and I don’t want to have to start wiping your blood off the ceiling!”

“Go - now!” she urged and heard the demon slip away. 

“Spike - ”

“How many more times - the name’s William. And what are you still doing here? If you’re from the landlord and are after some rent money, you can think again, lady,”

“Sp - William, my name’s Buffy Summers. You don’t remember me?”

Spike stood up, thrust his fingers through his curls and sighed. “No.” He raised his head and she realised he was scenting her, his nostrils flaring in a way she knew only too well. A puzzled expression crossed his face and he reached up to touch the new scar that slashed across his forehead as if it hurt him. “You’re...you’re a Slayer! Come to kill me, have you, what did you say your name was, Buffy? What sort of poncy name is that?”

“My mother gave it to me,” Buffy said quietly, taking another step forward.

“Your mother - ” he stopped, winced in pain again and the puzzled expression returned. 

“Do you remember the battle, the fight in Los Angeles? Don’t you remember another vampire called Angel?” she asked quietly, gripping her hands together so tightly that she could feel her fingernails bite into the skin of her palms.

Spike threw himself back down on the bed and yawned. “That’s what the demon asked. You’re giving me a headache. Nope, don’t remember any fight. Don’t remember any vamp called Angel. What sort of pansy name is that, for god’s sake? Don’t remember the past at all. But then, I reckon that’s normal for vampires. And I am one, that I do know! Just as I know you’re the Slayer.”

Buffy sat down gingerly on the very end of the bed and Spike sat up, crossed legged and stared angrily at her.

“Not just The Slayer, there’s lots of us now. All over the world. Don’t you remember the Hellmouth?”

“What Hellmouth? What the hell do you care whether I can remember who I am or not, Slayer. Do you want to fight?” His eyes suddenly gleamed like blue ice. “Hey, that’d be fun! Kick a little Slayer butt. Reckon you could take me, Buffy Summers?”

“I always could!” she snapped, and then had to resist the dreadful urge to burst into hysterical laughter. All these weeks of anger and grief, of sorrow and loss, desperate to believe he was alive, that he still cared, wanting to tell him how she felt, that her words just before he died had been the truth. Lying awake at night, rehearsing over and over again what she would say if she was given the chance to speak to him, just one more time. 

Night after night she’d feverishly worked at her body, to gain some relief from the tension that held her in a vice. But writhing in the clammy sheets in the heat of a Roman night, the nerves that had died in Sunnydale refused to awaken to her touch, unless she pretended that he was there beside her, not just an empty pillow on an empty bed in an empty room.

She imagined that minutes after they saw each other again, he would pull her into his arms, tear off her clothes and make love to her until they were both exhausted and sated by passion. And what happened? Within minutes of them meeting, he was annoying her again, in that effortless fashion only Spike could achieve. She was torn between wanting to punch him or kissing him until he gave in and kissed her back. But neither seemed the right course of action just now.

Buffy realised, with a sinking sensation in her stomach, that she didn’t know what to do. Should she tell him who and what he was? Did he know he had a soul? Indeed, did he still have it? Something had obviously happened to him during the L.A. apocalypse. The scar on his forehead made that plain. But did he still have the soul that he’d fought so hard to get - for her sake.

“So, are you saying we knew each other?” Spike was asking now, suddenly looking interested.

Buffy bit her lip. How on earth did she reply to that question? Well, yes, we’ve been bitter enemies, but then we had a passionate affair and you loved me and I loved you but didn’t realise it and you went and got your soul for my sake and died to help save the world but the Powers brought you back to life just in time for the next apocalypse and now here we are, back where it all started! She shivered. This wasn’t how she’d imagined their first meeting. How could he not remember her? 

“You cold, Slayer, or just shivering with excitement?”

“This basement isn’t the warmest place in California,” Buffy said dryly.

“Shame, thought it was being so close to me that was giving you the quivers. Anyway, you still haven’t told me, do we know each other?”

“We - we worked together for a while,” Buffy said quietly.

“I worked with a Slayer? Must have been mental. Good job I got this bang on the old bonce. Oh, don’t worry, the demon told me I must have been in a bloody big fight. Got the scar to prove it, apparently.” He suddenly swung himself up off the bed and stretched. 

Buffy shrank back against the wall, trying not to look too closely at the way his black T shirt strained against the muscles of his chest, the way his jeans slid down over narrow hip bones until only the belt was keeping him decent. The room seemed very small with Spike prowling around it.

“I’ve got to get out of here. Hate being shut in for too long. If we’re going to fight, can we do it outside, luv.”

She winced at the casual nick-name. He’d used so many for her. In the beginning they’d been said to annoy her, pet, luv, Goldilocks. Then, as their strange relationship had grown and deepened, others had been said. Sweetheart, princess, and some that were so intimate, so precious that she couldn’t even repeat them out loud to herself, it hurt so much to think she might never hear him say them to her again.

“Outside?”

“Oh, not in the daylight. You’re not going to get shot of me that easily. There’s a new sewer system being put in town. There’s a tunnel that runs right up to - ”

“Willie’s Bar,” Buffy said with a small smile. It was just like old times. Spike already had the tunnel system under Sunnydale marked out as his own personal highway.

“Hey, you know it? We could fight there if you like, Slayer.”

“Do we have to fight at all?”

Spike shrugged. “What else can we do? Dance? Hey, vampire here. Treading on the dark side and all that. I just don’t want to make this room all messy. It’s all I’ve got.”

Buffy stood up. “Do you really not recognise me?” she asked in despair, gazing into his face.

He looked at her and, for a second, the blue of his eyes darkened to midnight - then he winced and rubbed at the new scar. “Sorry, no. I take it we weren’t close or anything, otherwise I suppose I would.”

Buffy felt her throat closing and a flood of tears desperately trying to burn their way out of her eyes. No! She wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t give in to this tearing grief. She had to hang on to what she’d done. She’d found him and he was alive. That was all she’d prayed for, all these months. She hadn’t prayed for them to be together again, in any way, just for him to be alive. And he was. She had to be thankful for that.

Alive and aggravating. He turned and picked up a leather coat. Buffy couldn’t help gasping. If it wasn’t the same one he’d taken from the Robin’s mother in New York, then it was as close a match as you would get. He shrugged into it and held the door open with a mock bow. “After you, Slayer.”

She eased out, trying not to turn her back on him. She was just waking up to one vital fact, something she knew Giles would have pointed out to her right away.

If, for whatever reason, Spike was determined to fight her, there would be no holds barred. She found she was automatically reaching for the stake she still carried, because if they fought and she wanted to live, she would have no option but to kill the man she loved. She would be forced to kill Spike!

to be continued


	8. Roses in December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should Buffy fight Spike? If she does, will he kill her? Will she kill him?

Never Alone by Lilachigh

Chp 8 Roses in December

 

High above her head, Buffy could hear the sounds of workmen hammering, sawing, welding, building the new giant mall that would replace the one that had vanished into the maw of the Hellmouth when Spike closed it.

Down in the dark of the basement, Spike moved swiftly ahead of her, the leather coat billowing out behind him. Buffy followed, still gripping her stake. She gave a wry smile, wondering how many times she’d had the same view during their relationship over the years. Dark tunnel, dusty boots, black leather coat, slim figure prowling ahead of her into the gloom. Only the hair was different today. Only the tips of the curls were platinum now; if anything it added to how sexy he looked.

But the old Spike would have been throwing sarcastic comments over his shoulder as they walked. Even the Spike of their last year together would have reached back to touch her hand. Just a touch. Skin to skin. Flesh to flesh. But this man didn’t know her, didn’t remember her. It was devastating. Of all the scenarios she’d imagined when - if - they ever met again, this was not amongst them.

Ahead of her, Spike pulled up a heavy iron plate and beckoned urgently. “God, I’m glad to get out of that room. I was going crazy shut in there. Here we go, Slayer. Straight down, turn left and keep going till you reach Willie’s. Unless you’d rather fight here?” he said hopefully.

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t want to fight you at all, Spike.”

“William!”

“To me you’ll always be Spike. Listen, please - ” she reached out to him and he leapt back as the stake she’d forgotten she was holding, swung towards him.

“Hey! Watch it! Thought you didn’t want to fight?”

“I don’t! I just want you to sit still and listen to me for a couple of minutes. Is that too much to ask? We need to sort this out.”

Spike stared at her and absentmindedly rubbed at the vivid new scar that scored through his forehead and across his dark eyebrow. He was trying hard to sound as if everything was fine in his world. Being cocky and sarcastic seemed to come naturally to him, but underneath - he was scared. Terrified. What a bloody admission to make, he thought wearily. Whoever I am, I’m a vampire and as far as I know, being scared doesn’t come into the equation.

He stared at the thin, blonde woman standing looking at him. He didn’t understand the expression on her face. When she’d first seen him, her great greeny-grey eyes had filled with tears and he’d watched, fascinated, as the blood had literally drained away under her skin. Why would she need to cry over him? He knew instinctively that she was the Slayer. He didn’t know how. And, apparently, like the wrinkly demon Clem, he had been a friend of hers. But that was ridiculous. Vampires didn’t make friends with Slayers. He knew that as well as he knew he enjoyed watching football and drinking beer. So when had they been friends? And where? All he could remember was that his name was William, he was English, a vampire and he’d seemed to awaken as if from a deep sleep, walking down a dusty road, across a desert in the dark, heading south. 

His head had ached. He knew he’d been in a fight - bloody hell, he was covered with cuts, bruises, there were broken bones still deep inside him that were only slowly mending. He knew he had to find a place called Sunnydale. He had to go home. But from that first moment of awakening, he’d been scared. And he didn’t know what he was scared of!

Buffy - bloody hell, what a stupid name - wanted to talk, not fight. For some reason that suited him. And that was a whole different sort of scary. He should be desperate to kill her, but oddly he wasn’t. The scar throbbed again and bright lights flashed across his vision. He was beginning to realise that every time he tried to think about the past, the scar hurt like hell. It was very tempting to not think.

“Please, can’t we talk for a moment,” Buffy pleaded.

Spike’s grin broke across his face, eyes sparkling sapphire, making her stomach churn with memories. “OK, Slayer. Just put that stake away. You’re making me twitchy.”

Buffy frowned. Facing a vampire who wanted to kill her without a stake was probably not the most sensible thing she’d done since she was sixteen. But - abruptly she pushed it into her waistband and sat down on an empty wooden crate.

Spike threw himself down on the ground. “OK, Slayer, talk. Why don’t you want to fight me?”

Buffy hesitated. She knew she could just make her excuses and go. Say goodbye to Clem and Elsa his wife and Tosh, their cute little son and head back to Europe, to take up her job training the young Slayers that were appearing everywhere. But her heart would always be here. Whoever Spike thought he was, she knew he was the man she loved. It had taken her a long time to admit it to herself. She’d tried telling herself that the teenage love she’d felt for Angel was real, that her feelings for Spike were based on lust and gratitude for how he’d dragged her out of the pit of depression she’d fallen into when Willow had brought her back to this world from whatever heaven she’d been in.

But she knew she was only lying to herself. What she felt for Spike was so deep, so powerful, her love for Angel paled beside it. That love had been right for the young girl she was then; this love was right for the adult she’d become. A fairytale love was no good to her now. She needed the strength of this feeling. It colored every minute of her life.

She would not admit defeat and go away, leaving Spike behind. She’d never given up a fight in her life and she wouldn’t start now. “I don’t want to fight you, because - ” it was impossible to tell him she loved him; she would sound pathetic - “we were friends, Spike. Your name is William. You used to be called William the Bloody, or Spike. You’re an English vampire. You’ve killed two Slayers in your life. You were sired in 1880 by a woman called Drusilla. She was your lover for over a hundred years. Her sire, your grandsire was a vampire called Angel.”

He started to interrupt but she held up an imperious hand and waved him silent. She was determined to get all this out.

“I don’t know everything you’ve done in your life, Spike. But you came to Sunnydale with Dru, and a couple of years later, some army boys put an electronic chip in your head. It meant you couldn’t hurt people, just demons and other vampires. Since then - I died, was brought back from the dead, we - we became friends, you got yourself a soul, we got the chip taken out of your head, you died saving the world, but, hey, back again, fighting with Angel in L.A. in a big battle. Now you’re here and - and you don’t remember any of it, do you?” she finished wearily.

Spike was staring at her, his face a study of bewildered puzzlement. He shut his eyes, and rubbed at the scar on his forehead. “I’ve got a soul?” he whispered, latching on to the most astounding words in the whole of her speech.

“You did when you saved the world.”

“Is that why I don’t want to fight you?”

Buffy fought back a smile. Oh, there were so many replies she could make. No, you don’t want to fight me because you want to make love to me, was the most honest answer, but she no longer knew if that was true. “I think some part of you does remember me,” she whispered sadly. “Not in your brain. That scar must have done some damage. Your memory has gone. But in your heart, in the soul you fought for, I think you remember me. You must remember me.”

Spike stared at her. Then he reached out and, curious, touched a tear that was running down her cheek. This woman was crying for him! The scar burnt wildly across his head and from somewhere, a quote came into his mind. “There was a writer, James Barrie, the man who invented Peter Pan,” he murmured slowly. “He said once, ‘God gave us memory that we might have roses in December’.”

Buffy reached up and curled her fingers round his. “I wish this was our December, Spike.”

“And are you my rose?”

They stayed there, green eyes meeting blue, questioning, searching. A clattering and banging brought them sharply back to reality. Buffy leapt to her feet as Clem came staggering along the passageway, his usually cheerful face haggard and distraught.

“Spike! Buffy! Thank god you’re here. You must help. Quick. Tosh is missing. Something’s taken my little boy!”

“Slow down, Clem. Calm down,” Buffy said, quietly freeing her fingers from Spike's. “You said something had taken him? When? What?”

“Kids wander off all the time,” Spike said briefly.

Buffy flashed him a mega watt glare. “Not helping,” she hissed.

“Elsa went on the bus to visit her family this morning,” Clem said. “Tosh had a bit of a cold so she left him with me. I only turned my back for a minute to get him some chips, honest, and he’d gone. And there were - Spike, there were Shades outside!” he ended in an agonised whisper.

“Shades? You mean those black demony things we saw at Willie’s?” Buffy said.

Clem nodded, every inch of skin quivering in despair. “What if they’ve taken him? What will I tell Elsa? Buffy, you’ve got to help, please.”

“Of course we’ll help. But Clem, why would they take a little toddler? He’s no threat to them.”

“I don’t know! I don’t know. Please come.” Clem set off back down the passageway towards the mall basement. 

Buffy and Spike followed. Clem was a few yards ahead when Spike reached out and touched Buffy on the shoulder. A shock tore through her as if she’d been electrocuted. She’d used the expression ‘makes my blood tingle’ loads of times in the past without ever knowing what it really meant. Spike touching her, even through her t-shirt, made her realise exactly what it meant! 

“Slayer,” he muttered in her ear. “Don’t tell him, but - Shades eat little kids.”

“What!” Buffy lurched to a standstill, then tried to look blank as Clem turned to beckon them on. “How on earth do you know that?”

Spike shrugged. “Just do. Shades are - ” he closed his eyes and rubbed at the new scar on his forehead. “Shades - inhabitants of a hell world not commonly seen,” he repeated as if he was reading it out of an encyclopaedia. “They exist around the immediate area of a Hellmouth. Shades are flesh eaters and prefer their prey to be very young and tender.” He stopped and stared at her, a puzzled expression in his blue eyes. “Don’t ask me where that info came from. My brain hurts too much as it is.”

“Sounds like something you heard my Watcher, Rupert Giles, say at some time, or a guy called Wesley, who you knew once, too,” Buffy said as they hurried after Clem. “Do you really think they’ve taken that little guy to - ”

Spike stared at her face. She’d gone very pale. It struck him as odd that a Slayer should be bothered about a demon baby. There was something not right there. She should have been happy that there was one less demon in the world, even if it was little. And yet, he found himself admiring the fact that this Buffy Summers did care. He knew - and again, he couldn’t have said how he knew - that in the world of vampires and demons, if they killed each other, ordinary people would be only too pleased.

“Right - ” Buffy had caught up with Clem at the doorway to Spike’s room. “I’m going to have a good look around outside. See if I can track them. Clem, you search the construction works. Ask the builders, the carpenters, everyone! He could just have gone exploring and got trapped somewhere. Spike - ”

The vampire lit a cigarette and looked at her through the smoke. Bossy little thing, isn’t she, he thought. All orders and tension. He could almost see the muscles flexing in her shoulders as she issue her instructions. She’d fished a little scrap of ribbon out of her pocket and tied back her long blonde hair into a pony-tail high on the back of her head. As she moved, the T-shirt clung to curve of her breasts and a faint sheen of sweat gleamed on her throat. And for the first time since he’d found himself on the road back to Sunnydale, Spike felt a surge of feeling flood through him. What the bloody hell! No, this was ridiculous. He was in no way going to get aroused by the Slayer. That was sick! Perhaps it was just because he was hungry. Yeah, that was it. He needed blood - and hers would be - Oh God, no! A blinding pain shot through his skull and he swayed on his feet.

“Spike! Are you OK?”

She was spinning round to him, hand outstretched. Oh God! Her blood! He could taste it on his tongue. In his mouth. At some time, some where, he knew how it tasted. No way.  How could he remember her blood, but not her? And what was worse - he fought to keep his face from changing as he felt his demon trying to take over. The blood hadn't been tasted in battle - they’d been...he’d been....naked and - no! That was a load of crap. A vampire’s wet dream. She would have said if they’d ever been - well if they’d ever been lovers. And why in hell’s name would he have had sex with a Slayer? 

“I’m OK,” he said thickly, throwing his cigarette away and stamping on it far harder than he needed. Anything to release the tension coursing through him in answer to her, this woman he didn’t know in his head - but in every nerve of his body, he did. Spike fought his way back to reality. He didn’t want her. He didn’t know her! He must go on telling himself that. It was just because she was the first woman he’d been close to since....well, since whatever had happened to him had happened. She was a good-looking girl if you liked little, thin women and, let’s face it, in some bizarre way he knew he hadn’t had any sex for a long time. That’s all it is, he thought angrily and closed his emotions down with a bang.

He had to help Clem. He liked the little tyke, Tosh. He had a secret bucket of toy cars under his bed that the toddler played with sometimes when he wandered away from his parents. Not that he was going to tell the Slayer about that! She’d think he was just a big girl’s blouse.

“What do you want me to do?”

“It’s broad daylight outside. You’ll need to go back through the tunnels and start asking around. Do these Shades have some sort of lair or den where they hang out? How many of them are there? We’ve got no idea what we’re up against - geez, this place! I thought once we’d closed the Hellmouth, it would stay closed.”

“It has, Buffy,” Clem broke in. “These things lived sort of round the Hellmouth, like in its suburbs. When it caved in, they just moved out into the desert and then headed back in when humans began arriving again.”

“Just wait till I tell Giles we’ve got suburban demons now! Do they drive nice cars and water their lawns and vote Republican? He’ll freak. But, hey, you say they’re not demons?”

Clem nodded his head, all his wrinkled skin moving at once. “Not demons and not vampires. Shades.”

“Well, whatever they are, we aren’t going to find Tosh by standing around gabbing about them,” Spike said.

Buffy winced. That touch of impatient arrogance had sounded just like the old Spike. But he was right. “OK, let’s get going.”

Clem vanished back up into the construction site. They could hear him calling Tosh’s name, his voice frantic with worry. Buffy looked across at Spike again. “Are you up for this?” she asked. “You still look beat. I can probably manage on my own.”

“Oh sure, Slayer. First sight of a good scrap and you want me to stay indoors and watch TV! Forget it.”

Buffy reached out a hesitant hand and touched his arm. He reared back as if she’d staked him. “Sorry! Just - take care of yourself,” she said, trying to stay calm. “I know you don’t remember being in a big fight lately, but believe me, you have.”

Spike’s face remained blank for a second or two and then he grinned and raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re a very odd girl, Slayer. I’d give a year’s supply of blood to remember what sort of friendship we had before. We’ll talk later. Perhaps you can fill me in a little about that. But, in the meantime - got a kid to find.”

He swung round and loped off down the passageway again. Buffy stared after him. She realised she was shaking. The last thing she wanted was to ever let him out of her sight again. But she had no choice.

She climbed up into the mall building site, her mind a whirling mass of thoughts and feelings. She’d never in her wildest dreams imagined a time when Spike wouldn’t remember her. She’d thought - when she’d heard he was back in L.A. - that he might have moved on with his life. She’d heard that Harmony was there and the girl called Fred. And always Angel. His grand-sire. No matter how much they professed to hating and detesting each other’s guts, she knew that the bond that bound them was, in some strange way, was nearly as strong as the one that bound her to Spike.

But he didn’t remember Angel either! She would have laughed if she’d had the time. Angel would so not be pleased about that. Well, she could recall when not remembering Angel would have been the biggest bonus any power that be could have bestowed on her.

And now? Now he was a nice memory of growing up and when they met or talked she felt affection and an enormous sense of irritation with the whole broody-champion of the worldy thing. And that reminded her, she hadn’t phoned him to let him know Spike was still alive. That was something she would have to do as soon as she sorted out the Shades.

The midday Californian sun was doing its level best to suck every drop of moisture out of the world. Outside the mall, the dusty road was empty. The glare from the glittering earth made her eyes ache and she pulled out her sunglasses. The workmen had vanished to eat their lunch somewhere cooler and it was very quiet without the constant hammering and banging. If there had been any Shades around, there certainly weren’t any now.

Clem’s car was parked where he’d left it the night before. Buffy hesitated then opened the door, moaning as the wave of hot air hit her and slid in. She needed to get down to Willie’s as soon as she could and see if she could locate the Shades that had attacked her the day before.

“You’d think at least one of them could have stayed around for a fight,” she grumbled, trying to see if the car had any AC. But as much as she hated the thought, she had to admit to herself that they’d probably vanished because they’d captured Tosh. “Oh God, let him be all right,” she prayed, turning the key Clem had carelessly left in the ignition. “He’s the only good thing that seems to have happened to any of us in the last few years.”

She pushed the gear lever forward, wondering how driving with a stick shift could be that difficult, glanced automatically in her rear view mirror and - the whole of the back seat was black with a vast, oily midnight cloud rose up and flowed forward, trying to envelop her in its nauseous folds.

to be continued


	9. No head or heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buffy is forced to remember that Spike is an unchipped vampire and Spike is confused by a kiss.

Never Alone by Lilachigh

Chp 9 No head or heart

 

Clem’s car jumped forward and stalled. Buffy was suffocating as the black oily mass wound itself round her. She tried to punch, but it was like fighting vomit smelling fudge: it gave way beneath her fists, but she knew she wasn’t doing it any harm. She tried to yell, but got a mouthful of foulness and began to choke. Oh god, she was going to die. Back in Sunnydale, trapped in a silly little red car, she was going to be killed, not by a vamp or a demon, but by a black lump of evil smelling goo! ‘You shouldn’t have let Spike out of your sight. Told you so!’ a voice in her brain squealed.

Spike! No, she’d just found him. She wasn’t going to die when he was still alive. She flung herself round in the seat, fighting to open the door. She was drowning in this filth, her head was aching, she couldn’t see or breathe and she refused to give in to it....her hand caught on the winder for the window and she managed to turn it. The window slid down and then her fist connected with the horn.

The noise blared through the car and Buffy felt the black mass quiver. She leaned heavily on the horn and with a shudder, the thing let go of her and heaved itself through the half open window and vanished.

Buffy sat, gasping, staring out at the empty, dusty road outside the half-built shopping mall. She glanced round at the back seat: it looked untouched. A book of maps, some old Coke cans and a Big Mac carton. A couple of little plastic toys that she assumed belonged to Tosh, unless Clem had started playing with Spider Man models - and, no she wouldn’t go down that road.

Gingerly she started the engine again. So she was guessing that was a Shade. Nasty piece of work and not one she was in a hurry to meet again. But at least she knew it had one weak spot - it didn’t like loud noise. She giggled and imagined herself ringing Giles. “Hey Rupert, we’ve got some great new suburban demons in good old Sunnydale. You’d get on really well with them. They hate loud noise while driving - just like you.” But they weren’t funny. How could little Tosh fight against that? It had almost done for her. It was hard to kill something that didn’t have a head or a heart.

The drive through the newly constructed part of Sunnydale was uneventful. Buildings were springing up in all directions: everything looked new and raw, but at least the town was beginning to take on some sort of shape once more. And horrors of horrors, there was even a school being built! She wondered if anyone had thought to check out the site before they started construction work. It was impossible to tell, but somewhere down there was a Hellmouth. Shut for good - well, she hoped for good. Why did she have the nasty, tingly feeling that the school was just about where the old one used to be?

She felt a wave of sadness sweep over her as she drove. It was so hard to accept that underneath all this construction work lay the remains of the old Sunnydale. Her home, her mother’s grave, Tara’s, Anya’s unburied body. All swept away for ever.

But as the building areas disappeared, Buffy realised she was back on the outskirts again, where Willie’s Bar was situated. Here, the sun didn’t seem to shine so brightly, the air was thicker, a feeling of menace hung everywhere. The buildings looked rough and ready, more like temporary shacks that had been thrown together overnight. There were few people around and those that were scurried along, heads down, not looking up to catch her gaze. They seemed scared, and down-trodden. If they were the new population of Sunnydale, they didn’t look very happy about it, she thought.

Parking outside Willie’s, she heard yelling and thumping from inside the Bar. She raced to the door and flung it open, then had to dodge as Willie came sailing through the air, squealing, narrowly missing her. She grinned. “Spike?”

“Slayer?” He strode forward from the shadows at the back of the room, his black coat swirling around him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to hit you. Just questioning rat-life here about young Tosh.”

“And?”

Willie picked himself up, groaning loudly, and limped back inside. “I’ve told you, Spike, I don’t know anything about a baby demon. And how come you can hit me? What happened to your chip?”

Buffy’s fist connected with his chin and sent him sprawling. “You’re a long way behind with the vampire gossip, Willie. Spike doesn’t have a chip anymore - soul, yes, but chip, no. The only thing that’s preventing him from killing you is himself. And, to be honest, if you’ve had something to do with Tosh’s disappearance, then I won’t stand in his way.”

Spike raised the newly scarred eyebrow. “Like to see you try, Slayer!” He frowned. Why did this woman think she could go against him and win? Part of him was very tempted to wind her up and see what happened. Punching her might be fun. He staggered slightly as a bolt of pain shot through his brain and a flash of something inside his head showed him punching her, her kicking him, rolling on a dusty wooden floor, a wall breaking as they kissed, locked in each other’s arms and she reached down and - No! He couldn’t be remembering any such thing. It was impossible.

Willie was looking scared. “B..b..buffy, this isn’t the old Sunnydale. There’s some very nasty creatures here. They make your average vamp or demon look like pussy cats.”

“Willie, the last time we were in Sunnydale, we were fighting the First and closing the Hellmouth for good. You’d left town long before. Really not too concerned about the various baddies that hang out round here now. I’ve just had a run in with one of those Shadey things. Not nice but hey, I’m still here.”

Spike glanced up sharply. “You OK?” Then he frowned, a puzzled look on his face. Why on earth should he be worried if the Slayer was OK or not? Surely he should be pleased to hear she’d had a brush with a nasty.

“Fine. They don’t like loud noise. And they’re kind of stinky. Apart from that - well, we’ve seen and killed far worse. But we’re still no closer to finding Tosh. Clem will be going out of his mind.”

Spike hauled Willie up off the floor once more. “I’ve got a feeling our friend here knows far more than he’s saying.” He vamped out and bent towards Willie, who screamed like a girl.

“OK! OK! I’ll tell you, but you didn’t hear it from me. And I’m only telling you because I kind of like Clem, not because you’re scaring me.”

Buffy thumped the bar with her fist making all the bottles and glasses jump and rattle. “Willie, fast loosing my patience over here. Where’s Tosh? Have the Shades taken him?”

“I heard that they did have him, but he must have gotten away, because they’ve been hunting again. And they don’t do that if they’ve - well, if they’ve fed.”

Spike growled and tossed him over the bar. He crashed into the shelves, bringing down a cascade of bottles and the rich heady smell of alcohol filled the air.

Buffy frowned, her memory giving her pictures of the little boy demon who looked so much like Clem. Except his skin wasn’t quite as wrinkled as his dad’s. Clem who’d always been her friend. Who’d helped so many times with Dawn. Who even now, when he had a wife and child and responsibilities and could be forgiven for turning his back on all the old times, had looked after Spike, found him a place to stay and cared for him, even when the vampire hadn’t even remembered who he was.

“Spike, Tosh is little more than a toddler. How could he possibly get away from them? Where would he go? Jeez, he must be so scared.”

“I’ve been doing a bit of asking around on the way here, Slayer. The tunnels run in all directions under Sunnydale. It’s almost as if the whole warren had been built before people started putting up buildings on the bloody land. I reckon I know where the Shades have been hanging out. It’s a sort of cave, just under the surface of the ground with an entry into what looks as if it’s going to be a cemetery one day soon.”

“Oh great! Another cemetery. Just what I need. Okay, let’s get going. Why aren’t I surprised that we’re going down into a damp, musty tunnel system? I wonder why I never get to fight evil somewhere nice and comfortable. If Tosh has wandered off into those tunnels, anything could have happened to him. Pity I haven’t got a drum; it would be really useful if we meet another Shade. ”

“I can always sing.”

Buffy threw him a startled look. She kept forgetting. He was standing there, one booted foot on the bar rail, his hair half brown, half platinum at the tips of the curls. He was just - Spike. But he obviously had no recollection of being controlled by the First through a song his mother had once sang to him and Buffy didn’t think it was the right time to tell him!

“No, no singing, no humming, no chanting. If we meet a Shade, just shout and keep shouting. I’ll scream!”

Spike grinned. He knew she was the Slayer and all he had to hate, but there was something appealing about her, standing there, small but brave, hands on hips, tight jeans on her slim legs, and a top that left nothing to his imagination. Really, T-shirts that fitted that close in this heat were going to get damp and cling. He wondered lazily if the Slayer knew just how much she was showing him and to his horror, realised he was beginning to like her. Like her a lot.

Buffy prowled along a narrow dark tunnel that lay deep underneath the ground where the town of Sunnydale was being rebuilt. She’d found a flashlight in the bar and swung it from side to side to illuminate the uneven ground beneath her feet. They had to find these Shades, to discover if they were holding Tosh. The thought terrified her: he’d be so scared. According to Spike, they ate their captives! How could she ever face the gentle, wrinkle skinned demon again if that happened to his son and she failed to prevent it? Behind her she could sense Spike following with every fibre of her being. The sound of his boots on the rocky pathway stirred up dangerous memories. How many times had they patrolled and hunted like this in the past? She’d never dreamt they would again.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true, of course. She’d had many dreams about them patrolling together, and laughing, and fighting, and making love. Dreams that had left her weak and sick and aching for a man she would never see again. And now he was here, walking behind her, grumbling to himself in usual Spike fashion.

“One minute I’m having a nice read, lying on me bed, happy as a sandboy and now look at me, trekking through tunnels looking for bleedin’ Shades with the bleedin’ Slayer!”

Buffy felt her lips twitch. She didn’t need to turn to know what the expression was on his face. She knew he was enjoying himself. The talk was just that - vampire talk.

Spike didn’t need the flashlight to see where he was going, but for some reason, the swinging yellow beam made him feel happy. He watched the slim shape in front of him and grinned at the sway of her hips in the tight jeans. Hmmm. Very nice. But that apart - he was beginning to get angry with himself. What was happening to him? Cheerfully going along with the Slayer on her quest. He was evil, a vampire, a big bad. He should be acting like one. Why had he let the Slayer take the lead? He must be getting weak, allowing a girl be in charge. 

Still, it was better for her to be in front than have her behind him. Although - he frowned - the thought of Slayer and stake and imminent death in one package didn’t worry him as much as it should. And that was wrong. Very wrong. He had to start behaving like the vampire he was, otherwise, who would he be? Nothing and nobody. Suddenly he reached out and grabbed her arm. He sniffed the air. “Up ahead, Slayer,” he murmured. “Shades!”

Buffy switched off the light and they stood there in the enveloping dark. She was trembling - not from fear but the feeling of his fingers on her bare skin. He was still holding her arm and one of his fingers was absentmindedly tracing a delicate circle in the fine golden hairs. “How many?” she whispered at last.

“Three, maybe four. They’re not easy to distinguish. God they stink! Rotten eggs and sweaty socks times a thousand. No wonder no one knows much about them. Shouldn’t think anyone’s got close to them for centuries.”

“Can you sense Tosh?” Buffy eased her arm away from his hand. She needed to concentrate on finding Clem’s son and having Spike standing so close to her wasn’t helping her do that.

“Nope. I don’t think he’s there, but to be honest, Slayer, the stink's so bad, it kind of hides all other scents, even from a vampire.”

Buffy hesitated. She knew she couldn’t defeat these things by her normal fighting methods. No, she was going to have to be far more tricky. 

“So, what are we waiting for?” Spike muttered in her ear, his lips brushing the lobe in what felt like - a kiss?

She pulled away. No way. That had just been a misjudgment of distance on his part in the dark. This Spike, with his memories of their feelings for each other destroyed in the L.A. battle, would have no reason to kiss her ear. “It’s pointless rushing in and attacking them,” she whispered crossly. “I only just got away from the one in the car. As far as I can tell, they only react to noise. It’s far more important to find Tosh. We can come back with another plan to wipe them out later on.”

Even in the pitch black, she could almost see the expression on Spike’s face. “You want me to back down from a fight, Slayer? No way!”

“Spike, this isn’t about your pride or my inclinations to destroy demons. This is about a little boy who’s lost in these passages. If the Shades are still hunting him, then we’ve got to get to him first. If you want to waste your time fighting them, that’s up to you. But my priorities are quite clear and if you’re really Clem’s friend, then so should yours be.”

“The only reason Clem is my friend is because he says he is!” Spike snapped, rubbing at the new scar that slashed through his eyebrow. Where had it come from? He had no idea. “I don’t remember him from any other demon.”

“But you let him help you.” She heard the rustle of his leather duster as he shrugged. 

“Hey, if he wants to go out of his way to be of use, that’s down to him, Slayer. Me, I’ve always been bad. I don’t think I have any friends. I travel light. Always have, always will.”

Buffy flinched and the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stirred. This wasn’t the old Spike of the Apocalypse days talking. And she was putting herself in great danger by forgetting that. This was a unchipped vampire. Okay, he had a soul, but he’d even forgotten that. If you couldn’t remember getting one, if you didn’t know you had one, did that make a difference to the way you acted? Same old story, she thought miserably. Are you good because you have a soul, or are you just plain good? She knew what Giles would say. But she’d experienced too much over the last few years to be sure.

She tried to move away from Spike; they were wasting time, they had to find Tosh. Then the darkness in front of her became solid, there was the smell of leather and whisky and she realised his vampire speed had moved him into her path. “Get out of the way, Spike. We haven’t time for - ”

His mouth came crashing down on hers, taking her breath. His hands were holding her arms down at her sides as he kissed her, long and thoroughly. There was a roaring sound in her head, a desperate feeling of coming home: this was safety, this was where she belonged. Every sense in her body wanted to respond, needed to push herself against him, wrap her arms round his neck, kiss him back, let him in.

But she couldn’t. This wasn’t a lover’s kiss. This was a domination. Vampire, Slayer, bad versus good. Spike was acting, not out of love, but as he thought he should. And that made her want to weep. She schooled herself to stand still. Not to respond or move a muscle in his direction. At long last he drew back and whispered into the dark, “See, Slayer, bad as they come.”

Buffy lifted a shaking hand and, in the dark. wiped the tears from her cheeks. No point in getting upset, she told herself fiercely. He doesn’t remember you. Pretend this is the Spike you met back in school when your mom hit him on the head with an axe. The Spike who would cheerfully have killed you. Had, in fact, killed two Slayers before you. Pretend all that has happened over the seven years you’ve known him never took place.

She called on every bit of acting ability she had. “Fancy your powers of seduction, do you?” she laughed. “Goodness me, Spike, you’ve got a lot to learn about women, obviously. I’m trembling all over from your charms - not! That was absolutely disgusting. Have you ever heard of a toothbrush and what you do with it? And if you ever touch me again - well, just never touch me again - especially as I need to get my tetanus jabs up to date! Now, if you’ve quite finished with the theatricals, I’m going to look for Tosh. You can do what you like. Hey, nothing new there, then!”

Spike heard her turn and head off down a side tunnel, away from the smell of the Shades. He watched as she turned on the torch once more and he could see the beam of yellow light getting smaller and smaller as she walked away. He reached up and rubbed his scar. And no, his hand was not trembling. He was just - cold? Hey, vampire. No, but he’d been ill, wounded, he told himself fiercely. That was why he was trembling.

Why had he kissed her? To prove to her that he was all bad, and not some namby- pamby poofter who could be ordered around just as she wanted. But that kiss. He reached out a hand to support himself against the rocky wall of the passage. Holding her in his arms - that had seemed so - so normal. So right. As if he’d come home to safety after a long, dangerous journey.

And as the bobbing yellow light vanished round a bend in the passage, Spike realised one thing. He had been able to see her quite clearly, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. He’d watched her wipe the tears from her face, puzzled because he hadn’t understood why she was crying. But what was far more important was this - not once had she wiped his kiss from her mouth.

 

to be continued


	10. Just a Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buffy finally gets to grips with Spike again and something tries to get to grips with both of them!

Never Alone by Lilachigh

 

Chapter 10 Just a Stranger 

 

Buffy heard his footsteps behind her as she came to a fork in the tunnel and hesitated. Both ways looked dark and dangerous. The flashlight was getting dimmer now and she knew she would have to head for the surface soon. It would be pointless being down here without any light.

“Right hand one,” Spike said in her ear,

“How do you know?”

“Left heads back to the mall, where we came from. Clem will be searching by now from that direction. We need to head out further.”

Buffy sighed. “I thought all these tunnels had been destroyed when the Hellmouth was closed.”

Spike shrugged and rubbed at the new scar on his forehead. It was stinging like blazes. She talked about closing the Hellmouth as if it was something he knew about. Which was a load of bollocks. Even if you’d lost your memory of somethings in your unlife, you weren’t going to forget something as massive as a Hellmouth.

They walked in silence for a while, then, “Spike, the flashlight is fading. Can you see where we’re going?”

“Sure. Follow me.” He went to push past her, to take the lead just as the tunnel narrowed dramatically. Suddenly they were squashed close together, held almost motionless by the rock walls on either side. And at that very second, the light gave a final flicker and complete darkness descended.

Buffy could feel him there, pressing against her, the man she loved. She knew she ought to move, to make some bright witty comment and ease away, but the length of his body was against hers, one of his legs had somehow pushed between hers and she knew that his mouth was only inches away from hers. All it would take was for her to raise herself just fractionally on tiptoe and - this time the kiss was all about her. She held his face between her hands and let her fingers trace it’s shape over and over again as her tongue raced across his lips and battled with his.

She could hear a vague moaning and realised the sound was coming from deep inside her throat. She knew she should stop; this was madness. He didn’t know her. God what sort of girl would he think she was? But she realised she no longer cared what or who they both were. Even thoughts of Tosh and Clem faded into nothing. She was a female who needed her mate, needed him now. And the temptation was too great to resist.

She felt him tear her jeans down her legs and kicked them away into the dark. Her hands hunted for his zip and she had a flash back to another night, a deserted house and the very first time they’d made love. Then that memory was swept away as he picked her up under each thigh, held her against the wall. Months and months of grief and desire were beginning to mix and melt inside her. All she wanted was relief from everything, she needed him to make love to her, to make her feel he was hers, alive once more.

And then it was over. The tremors seemed as if they would never cease. Her legs slipped down from around his waist, but he held her tightly as she buried her face in his neck, unable to speak. This was bad, truly bad. He’d think she was some big old ho, just out for what she could take. But oh god that had been so good. And if she was honest, all she wanted was for him to do it again. 

Spike held the Slayer in his arms in the dark and felt her trembling with desire. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. She was so hot and somehow he’d known exactly how to please her. 

At last Buffy wrenched herself out of his arms, and dressed in silence, feeling in the dark for her clothes, pulling them on as fast as she could. She was cold now, all the heat gone and reality freezing her very being.

“Slayer - ”

“Don’t let’s speak,” she said sharply. “There’s nothing to say.” She thought if he laughed at her, she would kill him. 

“Well, it’s not every day a Slayer throws herself at me,” he said cheerfully. “Just wanted to make sure you enjoyed it. I mean, was it good for you, sweetheart?”

Buffy stumbled away down the passage. She could hear the laughter in his tone. Oh god, this was so dreadful, she couldn’t even think how bad it was. She’d just had passionate sex with a man who - as far as he was concerned - was a complete stranger. What did that make her? She felt dirty and deeply unhappy. It didn’t matter that he was the man she loved, the man she’d thought was dead who had miraculously been restored to her. He didn’t love her - he didn’t even know her! What on earth would her mom have thought of that? 

A hand touched her shoulder and she flinched and banged into the rock wall. "Hey steady on. There’s no need to go off like this. We’ve still got to find that kid and it won’t help if you knock yourself out. I don’t understand why you’re all in a twist, anyway. Whatever it was you needed, I obviously was the guy to give it to you. You won’t hear me complaining!"

Buffy lurched away from him. She was disgusted with herself. She wanted to be sick, could feel the vomit in the back of her throat. But there wasn’t time for that. She’d wasted enough minutes having her own itches scratched. But no more.

The hand caught her arm once more and she tried to pull away. “No, stop a second, Slayer. Listen?” His voice was suddenly serious.

She slammed her thoughts away in a part of her brain she hoped she’d never visit again and forced herself to listen. From somewhere nearby there was the sound of whimpering, the cries of a small child who was lost and lonely.

Twenty yards further on, the passageway turned sharply to the right and Buffy gasped. She knew where they were. They were standing on the edge of a vast precipice. A great cliff face of rubble fell away from the end of the passage, down into infinity. Down into what had once been the Hellmouth. And from somewhere down there came the whimpering cries again. They’d found Tosh.

Buffy crawled to the edge and stared down into the vast cavern of the Hellmouth. In the months since Spike had destroyed it, the ground had obviously carved out a way downwards once more. Hundreds of feet below she could see smoke and dull orange and ochre flames. The air smelt of sulphur and she realised it was getting hard to breathe. There were a few small fires half way down and in their flickering light she could see Tosh. Clem’s little son was perched on a finger of rock that stuck out from the side of the cavern about fifty feet beneath her. His shirt collar had caught on something and that was holding him steady on his precarious seat.

Buffy shouted down to him - “Tosh, hold on. Buffy’s coming to get you.” She wasn’t sure if he could hear her or not. He was still crying.

“Bloody Hell! How are you going to get down there, Slayer?” Spike said, peering over the edge. 

“I can climb down, unhook him and - ”

“And what? You can’t climb up holding him as well. The first time he struggles, you’ll both go down.”

Buffy bit her lip. He was right but there was no way she could leave the child there. As soon as his shirt tore free, he would panic and fall. “So what do we do. Wait until Clem gets here and tell him we’re sorry but we can’t rescue his son?”

Spike raised an eyebrow at her tetchy tone. Hot sticky sex obviously upset this girl’s temper. He would have to remember that. “We’ll both go. One on each side of the rock he’s on. I’ll put him on your back, his arms round your neck. Then we both climb, I’ll guard you with my body all the way up so if he does fall off, I’ll catch him.” 

Buffy nodded. His plan made sense. She hesitated briefly on the edge of the chasm. It was hard to realise that it had been somewhere near here that Spike had burnt and died. And he had no memory of it at all. And even after making love to her, there was no recognition in his eyes. It broke her heart - all over again. But that would have to wait. First they had to rescue Tosh. 

Inch by inch, she clambered down the rock face, her feet slipping and sliding as she fought to keep her balance. She glanced across at Spike. He’d thrown off his leather coat and boots. His bare feet were feeling for holds on the slippery surface but he was moving swiftly, surely and she remembered with a flood of emotion how easy it was to work with him, knowing that his vampire strength was almost as good as her Slayer’s.

At last she reached Tosh, just as a spout of flame gusted up from underneath her. It missed them by about three feet but the heat was enough to make the toddler scream and wriggle. As he did so his shirt came free and he swayed perilously on his rocky perch.

“Spike! I have to get him now. He’s going to fall.”

“I’ve got your back, Slayer,” Spike said and gasped as his new scar throbbed violently, the pain so great it almost made him pass out. He bit back a groan and watched as she swung herself across, plucked the little demon from the rock and swung him onto her back where he clung like a baby monkey.

Those words - god, what did they mean? He’d said them before - somewhere, sometime. And she’d said - something like - a faint echo sounded in his head - ‘I thought you wanted me to leave you alone’. 

He swarmed across the rock face and covered the two of them with his body as another great flame flared up. It missed them by inches and slowly Buffy began to clamber up the side of the Hellmouth, aware of his body protecting them every foot of the way.

“You’re doing fine,” Spike gasped. “Not far to go now.”

“Tosh keeps wriggling. Don’t let him fall. Catch him if he does. Promise?”

"Promise. And I always keep my word to a lady, sweetheart,” he laughed then glanced behind him. The flames were coming fast and furious, leaping higher and higher, like crazed animals, desperate to reach them. “Can you climb a bit faster, Slayer?”

Buffy put on a spurt and then, a worried wrinkled face peered over the edge above them and Clem was there, reaching down with flapping arms. “Daddy!” Tosh squeaked and let go of Buffy’s neck.

Clem howled as the boy fell backwards, then Spike reached up and plucked him out of the air. He swung from the rock face by one hand, the other grasping the child by one wrinkly arm. Buffy turned and gasped. Spike didn’t look secure. Tosh might only be a toddler, but his weight was pulling the vampire’s bare feet off the rock face. And underneath him the flames were growing larger and hotter every second.

As she watched, he scrabbled for a hold, the blood pouring from his toes as he caught them on the razor sharp surface. “Can’t hold him for long, Slayer,” he gritted.

Then she was at his side, catching Tosh’s other arm and together they heaved him up into his waiting father’s comforting grasp. Panting, Buffy and Spike hung together against the rock face. He stared down into the green-grey eyes. He felt he was drowning in their depths. Why could he remember her saying those words? When had she said them? 

“Spike, flames, burny, no good,” Buffy said at last as the heat became unbearable and they scrambled up the last few feet together to lie exhausted in a tangle on the rocky tunnel floor.

“Oh thank you, thank you so much!” Clem’s ears were waving back and forwards in his joy. He clasped the little lad to his chest, kissing his wrinkly head over and over again.

“Think nothing of it,” Spike groaned, rolling over onto his back and wincing as his bare feet touched the ground.

“I must get him home. The Shades are still hunting for him and his mother will be back any minute. See you later, guys, and thanks again. If I can ever do anything, anything...” and he hurried off back up the tunnel, with Tosh waving goodbye over his shoulder.

“You’re hurt,” Buffy said, looking at he vampire’s torn feet.

“Just another set of scars to add to all the rest,” Spike replied and sat up, resting his back against the rock wall. He rubbed the new scar on his forehead and glanced across at Buffy. He’d never met a girl like this before. Brave, strong, resolute. But she was still the Slayer and he was a vampire. Why did he feel admiration for her? Nothing made sense and his head hurt so badly when he tried to think about it. 

She caught his gaze and frowned. “What?”

“You’re something else, Slayer. I’ve never seen anything so brave. You could have gone down into that fire in a second.”

Buffy reached out and tentatively touched his shoulder. “I thought you were the brave one. The last time you were here, you burnt up and vanished. Spike, don’t you remember any of that. The amulet, the potentials, all the Scoobies fighting the First?”

There was a long pause as he fought his way past the agony in his head. “Just now, when we were doing our Batman and Robin routine, I remembered - ”

Buffy’s heart leapt. “What?”

The vampire frowned and ran a filthy hand through even dirtier hair. “Something, nothing, I don’t know, Slayer. It hurts so much when I try and think about the past.”

She bit her lip and clenched her fists so hard her nails bit into her palms. It was like losing him all over again, but he’d suffered enough for her. There was no way she was going to let him go through another sort of hell just so they could play ‘do you remember’ in the rubble.

“Then don’t,” she said firmly. “Perhaps it’s all tied up with your coming back from wherever the amulet sent you. Perhaps you’re not supposed to remember things. Let’s get back and check on Tosh.” She got to her feet and held out her hand. He took it and she hauled him upright. Leaning on her, they made their way unsteadily down the tunnel, heading for the mall and his room.

Buffy was glorying in the heavy weight of his arm around her shoulders, remembering the day when she'd rescued him from The First's torture and Spike was wondering why he felt so glad to feel the warmth of her body against his. Neither of them bothered to glance behind them and neither Slayer or Vampire saw what was crawling out of the pit. 

 

to be continued


	11. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buffy and Spike realise that some things never change...

Never Alone by Lilachigh

 

Chapter 11 Echoes

Safely back in Spike’s room, deep in the basement under the shopping mall, Buffy closed the door gently on Clem’s happy wrinkled face, as he thanked them over and over again. “We’ll be fine, don’t worry,” she said. “You look after Tosh. We just need some rest.”

Spike had thrown himself face down on the bed, dropping his boots and duster on the floor. Buffy found a bowl in the tiny shower room that led off the bedroom and filled it with warm water. Spike hardly stirred as she bathed the feet that the jagged rocks had torn so brutally. He winced a couple of times and, as Buffy glanced up, she noticed his hands were clenched into fists, gripping the pillow with a deathly grip.

“Sorry!” she said. “Trying not to hurt.”

“Don’t fret, Slayer,” he mumbled. “Soon mend. Are you okay?”

“A few burns from flying lumps of Hellmouth,” she said and he rolled over abruptly and sat up, almost sending the basin of water flying.

“Let me see.”

“Spike, it’s nothing. Your feet - ”

“Will recover.” He pulled her arms out in front of her and inspected the burns The worst one was on her cheek. She could feel it stinging. “There should be some sort of burn cream in the bathroom,” Spike said. “No use for it myself, of course. If I burn, I’ll go all the way!”

Buffy shuddered. In her mind she could see him in the Hellmouth, the light streaming from the amulet, burning up from the inside. It was a picture she knew she would see in her dreams for ever.

Spike swung off the bed and fetched the tube of ointment. He smeared some on his finger and beckoned to her. “Hold still.”

She tensed as he touched the cream to the small burns on her arms. Every time he came this close, the tension in her body soared. She knew he didn’t remember her and that if she made any advance towards him he’d think she was just a girl who fancied a bit of rough sex. But, oh god, it was so difficult when he was this close, not to reach out and touch him....

"Right, now for your face - ”

“I can do that myself. I’ll look in the mirror - ”

She stopped and bit her lip. Glancing up at Spike, she realised he was trying desperately not to laugh. “Not got a lot of call for a mirror, pet, owing to lack of reflection, blah de blah. Just give me the cream and stand still, Slayer. I won’t bite you! Yet!”

He tilted her face upwards and with feather light touches, soothed the ointment over the burn. Buffy felt her legs begin to quiver. His lips were inches from hers, she could count his eyelashes. Height-wise they had always been such a perfect match. She could feel her breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps. 

The dark blue gaze connected with hers and for a very long minute they stood, staring at each other. Buffy ran her tongue over her lower lip. She mustn’t make the first move again! That had been so wrong, earlier in the tunnels. Because this man didn’t remember her: to him she was the Slayer, a woman called Buffy Summers. No history between them, no hatred that had warmed into liking and then into love. This man had died for her and the whole world - and the world had repaid him by making him forget.

His tongue copied hers, flicking across his that lower lip, promising so much. Without warning his mouth covered hers, his hands clenched on her shoulders and he fell backwards onto the bed, pulling her down on top of him. He tangled his fingers in her hair and held her head still as he kissed her deeply. No one kissed like Spike. He made it into an art form. Lips, teeth, tongue - sensations raced through her body and Buffy felt her control slipping away. Perhaps, just once more, then she would be strict and say no.

“You’re an amazing woman, Slayer,” he muttered as he broke contact and dropped little butterfly kisses along her collar bone and up her neck to her ear. “What you did out there for little Tosh - for a demon child - ” 

She shut her eyes and let herself imagine they were back in the old Sunnydale, back in Spike‘s crypt, buried under a pile of carpets or spread eagled on the satin sheets of his bed. And he loved her, and she was still denying her feelings. Stupid, stupid Buffy. If she could only have known what lay in front of her, she’d have barricaded the crypt door and refused to come out ever. Suddenly she realised the kisses had stopped. She opened her eyes and found Spike gazing up at her, frowning. He rolled her off him and propped himself up on one elbow to gaze at her.

“You’ve gone away somewhere in your head,” he said quietly. “It worries you, this feeling, doesn’t it? You want to make love with me, I can tell. But - you’re holding back.”

Buffy sat cross-legged and plucked at the edge of a blanket where the stitches were fraying. “Doesn’t it worry you, making love to a Slayer? Don’t you feel you should be killing me instead?”

A puzzled look crossed Spike’s face. “Well, bloody hell, yes, of course it worries me. One part of me thinks it’s the sickest thing I can think of doing and, believe me, I can imagine some pretty sick things. But there’s another part of my brain that tells me it’s okay, that it was meant to happen. You told me we were once friends - but that wasn’t all, was it?”

“What do you mean?”

“We were lovers, too, weren’t we? My body knows that somehow, even though my head doesn’t.”

Buffy reached out and touched the new scar that cut through his eyebrow. “Lovers? Well, we had sex a lot! Then we - broke up. Then well, things happened, got wild. You went off to get a soul. When you came back - life was weird. We were fighting the First, here on the Hellmouth. You closed it -you died - I went away. And you came back and never told me!”

Spike looked up sharply at the agony in her voice. “Why not?” he asked quietly.

Buffy sighed. “I’ve no idea. You were with your Sire – well grand-sire, I suppose I should say! - a vampire called Angel?” She looked at Spike but there was still no reaction to the name. For some reason this pleased her enormously.

Spike reached out and pulled her back into his arms. She tensed, waiting for the onslaught of mouth and hands, but to her surprise, he just held her, rubbing a long, gentle finger up and down her spine. She felt the coiled springs inside her begin to relax and the wriggled closer, shutting her eyes, glorying in the feel of his T shirt under her cheek.

“I hurt you by not making contact.” His voice was a deep rumble inside his chest.

Buffy hesitated, but there was no point in lying or prevaricating. “Yes, you did. Badly. And what makes it worse is that I’ll never know why. Not when you don’t remember.”

The finger continued to gentle her tension away. Her eyelids felt so heavy. Surely, at long last, she could sleep. A great well of exhaustion was waiting to swallow her up and all she wanted was to dive into it, knowing that Spike’s arms would hold her safe until the morning as they had done once before, not far from this very spot.

“Bloody hell, Slayer, perhaps I was just being evil. Still vampire, I remember that.”

“I...I can’t believe - it’s so hard to think that to you I’m a stranger. That you don’t recall anything of all those years we spent here in Sunnydale. How must I seem to you? A woman who throws herself at a guy for sex?’

Spike gazed down at the unruly blonde curls spread across his chest. His new scar was throbbing again, violently. It made him want to vamp out, to bite something, someone, to kill and keep on killing to deaden the pain. But, somehow he knew now that the pain was the barrier he had to cross. The pain was keeping him from remembering. On the other side of it he could sense were all the answers to the questions that were haunting him.

“You seem like a bloody incredible woman to me. You’re brave and kind and tenacious. I won’t deny I didn’t enjoy the sex, pet,” he murmured. “It felt - wonderful. And what was weird was that I knew what you wanted from me. I could feel the knots inside your body that needed to be untied. And I seemed to know exactly how to do that.”

Buffy couldn’t help it - she giggled. “Geez, fancy yourself much, why don’t you!” she said, lifting her head and gazing up into his eyes.

Spike grinned. “If I remember correctly, it wasn’t a one sided transaction, luv. You knew exactly what tune to play on me. In fact, come to think of it, you had an unfair advantage. You remember what we did before.”

Buffy sighed and dropped her head back onto his chest. They had come full circle - the problem was still there, she remembered the past, Spike didn’t. She loved him and he - “Do you even like me?” she asked curiously.

“Sometimes,” he replied, wincing as the scar bit into his forehead.

“Do you trust me?”

“Never - ” he got out. But the pain in his head ate him up in a swirl of red mist just as the door to his bedroom crashed open and two long, stinking black tentacles flailed their way towards the couple on the bed.

to be continued


	12. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which love, sex, loyalty and friendship all become dreadfully muddled.

Never Alone by Lilachigh

 

Chapter 12 Memories

 

“Spike! Look out!” Buffy launched herself off the bed as one of the tentacles lashed forwards and wrapped itself round Spike’s arm. With astonishing power it dragged the vampire across the room until he got his other hand round the door frame and hung on, roaring in anger, vamping into game face.

Buffy dodged the second tentacle and gazed wildly round the room. She needed a knife, an axe, something sharp. There was nothing. “Spike - I need a weapon!”

But the vampire was busy keeping himself from being pulled out of the room. She saw a flash of fangs as he buried them in the tentacle and green pus like slime oozed out of the black skin. Then as she grabbed a chair and began smashing it down on the second tentacle, Spike’s grip weakened and he was hauled bodily through the door.

“Slayer!” She could see him fighting to stay on his feet and she leapt after him. Outside, was a scene from a nightmare. The demon’s tentacles were black and shiny, but its fat, pulsating body was covered with coarse black hair - a cross between a spider and an octopus.

Six more tentacles were flailing the air, propelling the beast down the corridor, then suddenly, Spike’s fangs were working once more and with a high pitched scream, it dropped him and the tentacle was pulled back inside the body, dripping a green liquid that smelt of sewers and death. But the other seven tentacles were just as vicious and reached eagerly for its prey. Deep in the hairy body, Buffy could see a red and purple mouth opening and shutting with a heavy, sucking, squelching sound.

Spike had rolled clear and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nice little friend, pet,” he shouted. “One of yours?”

Buffy ducked as a black horror with shiny suckers underneath it swung towards her with the speed of lightning. “Very funny,” she shouted back. “Why haven’t you got any weapons handy? I need an axe.”

Spike leapt to one side, vaulting over the yards of black muscle that were coming dangerously close to him again “Told you before, sweetheart, vampires carry our weapons with us - you have to reach for - ” Then he stopped, his eyes widened, the game face vanished, and he clutched his head as the new scar throbbed violently.

But this time, he wouldn’t let it stop him remembering - those words, his tone of voice, the smell of beer, the taste of Buffalo wings, music, dancing, cigarette smoke in the air, a girl who hated him - “Buffy - ” he started in a whisper, then went crashing to the ground as a tentacle smacked him on the back of the head.

Buffy dodged again and jabbed fiercely at shiny black skin with a stake, but she was beginning to feel desperate. This creature seemed to be growing more tentacles and she still didn’t have a cutting weapon.

Then, suddenly, the door at the end of the corridor was flung open and three demons, two big and one very small, hurtled through. Long ears flapping wildly, their faces contorted from their usual happy smiles, Clem and his wife attacked the octipider with a knife and - oh joy - an axe.

“Elsa - Clem - I need a weapon!”

Elsa pulled another knife from her belt and tossed it to her. Buffy had a brief view of the demon couple chopping desperately at a tentacle that was even now trying to pull Spike towards its mouth. And to her amazement, there was the toddler, Tosh, running in to slash with a knife that was almost as big as he was and then diving out again before anything could touch him.

Buffy leapt forwards towards the octipider’s heaving body. Her fist smacked down hard on the hairy mass and as it spun its mouth towards her, the knife in her hand flashed down with all her Slayer power behind it. There was another high-pitched scream, the tentacles squirted back inside the body and with a curious, heaving motion, the demon creature spun and slid away, back down the passage that led towards the Hellmouth.

Spike picked himself up, groaning, and the four adults stared at each other, panting, their hands and arms covered in the stinking green blood. Only Tosh seemed quite happy: he’d found four inches of tentacle that his father had sliced off and was busy hacking it into tiny pieces with his knife.

Clem waggled his long ears at Buffy. “That was close. What was it?”

“I didn’t wait to be introduced,” Buffy replied dryly. “I’m only too thankful you and Elsa were around. Spike didn’t have a single weapon in his room!”

“Only too pleased to help,” Elsa said shyly. “Clem told me how you saved Tosh. I can’t ever thank you enough, Buffy. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost him.”

Buffy’s smile was warm. “Well, Spike helped too - a bit!” She turned to grin at the vampire, then hesitated. He was standing, leaning against the wall, looking at her with a very odd expression on his face. “Ewwww, I know, this stuff stinks,” she said. “Can I use your shower, Spike? I reckon Clem and Elsa will be busy for hours getting themselves and Tosh clean.”

He nodded. “Sure. Go ahead. I’ll just check it’s gone - whatever it was.”

His voice sounded odd, Buffy thought. As if he was miles away, thinking of something else completely. She raised her eyebrows and smiled. Fighting with him by her side was so exhilarating, made her realise all over again that he was back, alive, that all her dreams and prayers had come true. So what if he didn’t remember her? Did it matter? She loved him; that would never change. Even if earlier he'd been having sex with a stranger, there was no need for her to feel guilty, because she had been making love to the man who’d won her heart against all the odds.

“Is it a big shower?” she asked cheekily and then frowned as he muttered, “What, oh no, not really. You go first. Plenty of hot water. I must just....make it safe....Tosh....back in a second, Slayer.”

Spike walked slowly along the passage, trying desperately to stay and appear calm. Once down in the darkness of the underground tunnel system, he leant against the cold wall, then slid down it until his head was resting on his knees. The pain was thundering through his brain again, but there, underneath the agony, were the beginnings of bright pictures. None of them made much sense. There didn’t seem to be any pattern or order to them. A red headed girl, a guy with dark hair and a silly smile, a beautiful young teenager with long black hair.

Fighting, jeering, kissing, no, no, no, now a thin, dark haired woman in a long white dress was running her fingers over his face. She’d been important. And another vampire - a quick bright flash of broad shoulders, dark hair, eyes that could see right through you. Then the pictures faded and the underground chill surrounded him once again. Spike shuddered. Was he remembering his past or was this all a dream? But surely you didn’t feel emotions like this in a dream. Fear, anger, hate, jealousy, power, and above all, the emotion that came roaring to the surface whenever Buffy's face swam into focus inside his head. Those green eyes, blonde hair - long, curly, short, tied up in a pony-tail, under a silly woollen hat, matted with blood, tangled with dirt, with sweat.

But all the time the emotion was there, too, love for Buffy Summers, the Slayer.

The woman he’d shagged so carelessly hours ago had, he knew, at some time been the love of his life. He couldn’t remember any details, but the brief pictures kept coming. And yet he’d treated her like - well, there was a word for girls who enjoyed sex with strangers and he’d believed her to be just such a person. He’d thought she was hot, aching for it, a randy little girl. There had been no tenderness, no delicacy, in the act. And he could see all too clearly in his head her reaction when they’d finished, the look of pain and - yes, betrayal, in her eyes. He hadn’t understood then and with all the business of rescuing Tosh, there’d been no time to ask questions. But now....

He rubbed furiously at the scar where the pain was now subsiding and with it the flashing pictures that his words earlier had conjured into being. “I told her my body remembered her, even if my mind didn’t,” he muttered, but that was no excuse. it didn’t even sound genuine - it sounded like some bloody pathetic chat-up line that the dark haired guy would have used - God what was his name? - he forced the pain back into his head and with it came another memory - “Xander Harris!” he gritted the words out loud.

Spike brought his hands up in front of his face and stared at them. Pale, strong fingers. Scars and cuts and grazes all over them, liberally covered with demon blood at present, but earlier she’d let him use them on her, let him touch her. He brought them to his mouth and even through the green slime he could smell and taste her. He groaned. For a fleeting moment he’d had a memory of the woman he’d loved, and it was the same woman he’d pounded against a rock wall. But he hadn’t loved her then, had he? So what did that make him? 

None of this made sense. He was evil, a vampire. So why did he feel ashamed of what he’d done? She knew what he was, she hadn’t said no. He just wished - oh soddin’ hell, how he wished they hadn’t done that. He froze suddenly as he heard a stone rattle and footsteps. And he realised that he would know that step anywhere. He could smell shower gel, wet hair, the fabric conditioner on one of his old shirts that she’d pulled on. And as she sank to her knees beside him in the dark, he knew, too, that she was naked underneath it.

Buffy and Spike sat in silence, the dark wrapping around them like a warm cloak. He couldn’t speak - him who usually found it hard to shut up, couldn’t find the words he needed to - what? - apologise? Vampires didn’t say sorry.

At last Buffy sighed, but it wasn’t a sad sound. To Spike’s astonishment it sounded more like a groan of utter contentment. “It’s weird, isn’t it,” she said at last. “You, me, a dark tunnel, fighting monsters: it all seems so nice and normal. What to another girl would be the most terrifying and dreadful day of her life, makes me feel happy.”

“Why’s that, pet?” he managed to say, his head still cradled on his folded arms across his knees.

He felt her shrug in the dark. “Oh, because it's you and me and the normal way of our life together, I suppose. I thought I’d lost all that. I’ve been going through the motions of being a happy little Slayer, but it hasn’t been real. When I thought you were - gone - it all became mundane, irrelevant.”

Spike felt his lips twitch unwillingly. “Big word for you, Slayer.”

Buffy punched him lightly on the shoulder with a blow that would have sent a normal guy sprawling. “I know words! Lots and lots of words! Anyway, how can you know how I usually speak? You don’t remember - ” She stopped abruptly. “Do you remember, Spike?” she whispered, her voice an agonised gasp in the dark.

“Not everything,” he admitted. “Just flashes - people, places, things. Can you tell me why I should remember a model of a bride and groom from the top of a wedding cake, for god’s sake? And wrapping a stuffed toy pig in brown paper?”

Buffy smiled. “That was Mr Gordo. You sent him to me, via the demon network, when you thought you were going to die when we fought the First here in Sunnydale. It was getting that parcel that made me realise the link between us had never been broken and that you were alive somewhere. What else do you recall?”

Spike shook his head wearily. She sounded so bloody happy, so enthusiastic. All he wanted to do was sleep for a million years. “Told you, pet, hardly anything. Every time I try, I get this blinding pain in my head, as if something’s trying to stop me remembering.”

Buffy reached out instinctively, her fingers finding the curve of his slender neck where the curls grew tighter. She ran her hand down it and felt him shudder. “Then don’t try, Spike. You’ve no need to remember for my sake. This is our life now, from today. Yesterday has gone. What use is it to us?”

Spike lifted his head and gazed round at her. His night vision was far better than hers and even in the darkness he could pick out the tender curve of her lips. She was smiling. “I don’t think we can just forget it, Slayer. It made us what we are. And that’s the whole point. I need to remember because I don’t know what I am any more."

Buffy shifted on the hard rocky floor. She wished she could crawl into his lap and let him cradle her against his chest. But he’d made no move towards her since the fight with the octipider. She frowned. He was beginning to worry her.

“I need to....need to say sorry about - earlier. I should never have done what I did to you. I treated you as if you were - ” he stopped, words failing him, or at least, words he could use in front of her.

“You treated me exactly the way I wanted,” Buffy said, her patience beginning to crack. “Is this what all this is about, Spike. You’re having a guilt trip because we made love when you didn’t know who I was?“

“We didn’t make love, Slayer, that‘s the whole point,”’ he said, jumping to his feet in one smooth, lithe movement. “We had sex. And there was no affection on my side. It was just - sex. Now - now I can remember loving you and recalling what I did makes me feel sick.”

Buffy got up too and leant against the passage wall. She needed the cold hard stones behind her for support. She’d seen Spike in many different moods over the years, but remorse was not one she’d come across before. “Well, you certainly still know how to make a girl feel good about herself,” she snapped. “I’m sorry that making love to me makes you feel sick, Spike.”

“That's not what I meant. Having sex with someone who - who has some affection for you when you don’t know them at all. That isn’t right. What’s worse is that I know it shouldn’t worry me, but it does. And that isn’t right, either!”

“Geez, Spike, get a grip. I wanted you - badly. I knew damn well you didn’t remember me and that we should have waited until you did, but sorry, I love you, you idiot. I thought you were dead for months. I wanted you. If that‘s so very wrong, then blame me, but do stop hitting yourself over the head about it. It makes you sound like Angel!” She bit her lip as she threw the insult at him. It was the very worst thing she could think of to say, but she had to try something to get inside that stupid head of his and sort him out. But there was no response, just, “Who’s Angel? You’ve mentioned him before.”

Buffy sighed. She really didn’t want to go down this road. “Angel was your grandsire. He turned Drusilla, who turned you. The two of you go back a long, long way. You don’t like him, but you were fighting on his side in Los Angeles when you vanished.”

“Is he dead?”

Buffy dug her nails hard against the implacable stones. “No, he isn’t,” she said tersely. “Now can we please stop talking about Angel and talk about us?”

Spike spun round to face her. “But he’s a big part of my past, isn’t he? I need to know, Slayer. I have to find out who I am. Why I am.”

“You're the man I love. The man who once loved me more than life itself,” she whispered, feeling hot tears beginning to gather in her eyes. 

“Then why can’t I remember?” he roared, his fist hitting the wall beside her head. “If I really loved you, how could I have treated you like I did? That wasn’t loving, Buffy. That was just sex!”

Buffy felt her temper rising. She’d forgotten in all the anguish of losing him just how irritating he could be when he chose. How he could effortlessly make her want to smack him. It gave her a jolt. Was this what happened when someone you loved went out of your life? You only remembered the good things and not the bad? Did you build them up in your mind as perfect when, of course, they weren’t.

“Spike,” she tried to keep her voice calm and steady, but failed. “You’re getting things out of proportion. Look, come upstairs and have a shower. You’re still covered in that icky thing’s blood. Get a wash and we’ll go find a bar and have a drink. I don’t suppose you remember the Bronze where we used to drink. There must be somewhere half decent been built in the New Sunnydale. Clem will know.”

The Bronze. Spike shut his eyes and tried to think. And for a second or two he was there. He was stalking his prey, coat flapping at his heels, moving through the crowd, scenting her, then seeing her through the cigarette smoke and the flashing disco lights - dancing, arms raised, blonde hair escaping to surround a small, pretty face. Her body tight and hot and calling to him. Then as swiftly as it had come, the memory was sucked away by a great wave of pain and he winced and clutched at his forehead. “It’s no good, Slayer. I have to find out why I can’t remember,” he said at last when he could make his voice work once more. “You said I was fighting in Los Angeles. Well, that’s where I’ll have to go then.”

Buffy felt her blood ice over and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “Spike, that’s ridiculous. All you’re going to find in L.A. is a load of pain and misery. And what about the Hellmouth here? It’s opening again. These Shades and monsters prove that. I’ve got to find a way of shutting it. I need your help, Spike. I...I don’t think I can do it on my own.”

Spike winced at the uncertainty in her voice but he knew she was wrong. If anyone could cope with the Hellmouth it was this woman. She certainly didn't need his help. “I’ll be back,” he said quietly. “Once I find out what happened to me, why I’ve become the person I am.”

“Oh great,” Buffy said sarcastically, hardly able to believe he was going to walk out on her. “I’ll just tell the Shades and various other assorted monsters to sit and wait for you then, shall I?”

“You don’t have to start closing the Hellmouth straight away, do you?” Spike said, beginning to get annoyed at her attitude. Bloody hell, perhaps this was why he didn’t fully remember her. She could be a right royal pain when she chose.

Buffy stared in the direction of his voice, wishing he could see the expression on her face. She reckoned it would tell him more than a thousand words. “Listen, Spike. The Hellmouth is my job. Always has been and by the looks of it, always will be. There is no way I can just walk away and leave it to flourish.”

“I need to go to L.A.” Spike said stubbornly.

“Then go!” Buffy turned on her heel. “I’ve really had it with all the soul searching and introspection. I’ve done that gig. Played those games with another vamp. Go to L.A., find Angel, discover what happened to you. Perhaps you’ll come back, perhaps you won’t. To be honest, I don’t care any more. I’ve got a job to do and I’m going to do it.” She didn’t wait for his reply, but walked rapidly away, back down the passage towards the shopping mall. She was trying hard not to cry. Now wasn’t the time. There would be time for tears later. 

So he was leaving her. Nothing new there then! she thought bitterly. It was what every man in her life did at some time. And at the end of the day, the truth was simple. She wasn’t enough for him. She wasn’t good enough for William the Bloody. That was a cracking joke. One day soon she’d sit down and have a really good laugh about it. Yes, discovering where he came from, who he was, what he’d become, was obviously far more important than loving her. She pushed aside the little voice in her mind that asked her why she couldn’t have gone with him to L.A? Why she was so scared of him discovering the truth behind his injuries? Because if she was honest, she was terrified. Once he knew who he truly was, then perhaps he wouldn’t want her after all.

Buffy reached Spike’s room and sank down on the bed to catch her breath. She curled up and buried her face in the pillow - just for a moment. She could smell a lingering trace of the vampire on the incongruous pillow slip. A child’s pattern of yellow teddy bears - obviously all Elsa had spare. The tears came at last, slow and hot, trickling down the side of her face to pool on the pillow. She was too tired to sob. She just lay there and let the pain of rejection flood out of her. 

At last she sat up and swung her feet onto the floor, pushing her emotions away, putting another layer of bricks on top of the wall she was busy building in her head to keep Spike and everyone else at bay. When would she ever learn? she wondered wearily. You gave your heart to someone and they walked all over it and then stomped it into the ground. Well, it wasn’t going to happen to her again.

The octipider’s body had gone. Clem and Elsa had tidied it away. But Elsa‘s axe was still lying on the floor. Buffy picked it up and tucked it into her waistband. “I don’t need anyone!” she told herself fiercely. “I’m the Slayer and this is my job. I don’t need Spike - I’ll never need Spike again!”

to be continued


	13. Being Buffy Summers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone tells everyone else what they think!

Never Alone by Lilachigh

 

Chapter 13: Being Buffy Summers

 

Buffy headed upstairs to say goodbye to Clem and Elsa. She didn’t know what would happen once she began her fight against the Hellmouth: perhaps she wouldn’t survive this time without a stupid vamp to help by dying. She dashed at the tears that burnt her eyes: she refused to cry over Spike. She’d spent months doing that when she thought he was dead. No more. Let the idiot vamp go off to L.A. See if she cared. She was going to do what she'd always done - her duty as a Slayer.

‘But you’re not the only Slayer in the world now,’ a voice in her head whispered, but she ignored it. She knocked on Clem’s door and Elsa opened it, a finger to her lips.

“Come in, Buffy,” she whispered. “But don’t make too much noise. I’ve just got Tosh off to sleep. He’s been over-excited, what with getting lost and fighting the octipider.”

Buffy followed her into a small room, the walls covered with brightly spattered paintings which looked like any other small child’s nursery school efforts, except most of the people had two heads, or fangs or tentacles. Tosh was lying on top of his bed, wearing Superman pyjamas, arms and legs splayed like a small starfish. Buffy felt her lips curve into a smile, something she hadn’t thought she would ever do again. He looked so innocent, the skin not quite as wrinkled as it would be when he grew up, the ears not quite so large.

Buffy sighed. She loved small children but knew the chances of her having one were remote. The thought of making love to anyone except Spike was repugnant. Would there ever come a time when she could look at another guy? And she was still a Slayer. Riley had been unable to cope with her strength. What ordinary man could.

Elsa drew a light blanket up over Tosh’s legs, then ushered Buffy into the living-room. “Clem’s out, if you need him. Can I get you a drink? We’ve got all sorts of fizzy ones and chips and dips and I could rustle you up some ribs? We’re barbecuing the octipider tomorrow night. Will you and Spike be coming? You’re more than welcome.”

"Oh - Oh!” Buffy swallowed hard, suddenly wondering if that had been the fate of lots of the monsters she’d dispatched over the years. Demon wives came and cleared them away and cooked them for their families! Weirdly gross and yet somehow neat. “No, that’s very kind of you, Elsa, but Spike’s going to L.A. and I’ve got to start work on closing the Hellmouth again. Or at least find out what these Shade things are up to. There's no way I can let Sunnydale slide back into its old familiar routines again.”

Elsa sat on the sofa and plucked at the edge of a cushion. She was smaller than Clem but just as wrinkly. Her eyes were soft and wise when she glanced at Buffy. “So you’re not going to L.A. with Spike?”

“No. It’s ridiculous. All of a sudden he needs to know who he is, why he can’t remember his past. The fact that he’s needed here isn’t important to him. So, he can go. I’ll be just as well off without him.”

Elsa picked up a little toy car that was lying on the floor and ran it gently across the sofa seat. “When I first met Clem,” she said, seemingly not paying any attention to what Buffy was saying, “I used to get really tired of hearing about his friend Spike. That’s all he ever seemed to talk about - Spike said, Spike did, you should have seen what happened when Spike and Buffy fought this demon or this monster, on and on and on.”

Buffy sighed. “Ouch! Boring! Poor you.”

Elsa smiled gently. “Oh no, not boring. Just that I was angry. I imagined Clem thought he was second best in some way, not as exciting, as brave, as clever, as evil as Spike.”

Buffy winced. “Geez, that’s rubbish. Clem’s always been marvellous. Kind, helpful, a true friend. OK, not so much with the evil, but hey, I like him just as he is. Spike would have done anything for him, and he would now - even though he can’t remember being his friend!”

“Oh I know, Buffy. So does Clem. Because you see, I was wrong. Clem never believed he was second best to Spike. I honestly think the idea never entered his head. He was his friend, and that was that. It was me who had the problem with it.”

Buffy was curious. “What happened?”

“I’d never met Spike. I was living in Arizona with my parents and Clem would come and visit. He’d drive up in that little red car and we’d go off into the desert and camp out under the stars. That’s where Tosh was made.”

“Oh!” Buffy bit back the hundreds of question she wanted to ask. Such as, why could demons have children but not vampires? And why had she never seen any little demons before in all her years on the Hellmouth? “So Clem went to Arizona when he left Sunnydale when the First was about to put in an appearance?”

Elsa nodded, her ears waving. “I had Tosh on the very day you and Spike closed the Hellmouth and Spike died. I thought Clem was going to go mad.” The toy car jerked out of her fingers and crashed to the floor, rolling away under a chair.

Buffy frowned. She’d been so busy coping with her own grief, trying to pick up the pieces of a life that made no sense without him, that she’d given very little thought to how Spike’s best friend must have felt.

“He was joyful at Tosh’s arrival but devastated that Spike had gone. I was jealous. I admit it now. Clem knows how I felt. We don’t have secrets from each other.”

Buffy laughed sadly. “Wish I could say the same about Spike and me. Our whole relationship has been one big secret.”

Elsa sighed. “Well, I was jealous of a dead vampire. Not my finest hour as a wife, I must admit. For a few months life was difficult; I didn’t know how to make Clem feel better. I refused to talk about it. I felt that he should move on with his life, stop looking back, agonising over how he should have stayed in Sunnydale and helped you and Spike fight the First.”

Buffy looked up, her green eyes sharp. “What? But Elsa, nothing would have been any different, except Clem might have perished. Spike would still have used the amulet and died.”

Elsa nodded. “Eventually he seemed to accept that and for a while we rubbed along together, looking after Tosh and making a new life for ourselves. But deep down, I knew we were just papering over the cracks and in the long run, neither of us was going to be happy.”

“So what happened?”

Elsa stood up and began sorting some washing ready for ironing. Buffy curled herself up in the big armchair. She was so comfortable. It was relaxing listening to Elsa. She reminded Buffy of another homely girl, with long amber hair and a soft voice that sounded like melting honey.

“A parcel arrived, very battered. A Murpf demon brought it one night. Clem said it was important and took it to New York.”

“He came to give it to me. It was from Spike.”

“Yes, he told me when he got back. It didn’t make me feel any better. Then I realized he wasn’t sleeping. Tossing and turning, night after night. Finally I got him to tell me that he’d been having the same dream - a vision of the New Sunnydale. As if it was calling to him, insisting that he return. He wanted to leave at once.”

“Some power wanted him here? Because of Spike?”

Elsa nodded, her ears waving vigorously. “That’s what I think now, but then,of course, I just thought he was being over dramatic, imagining it all. I told him to go, if that was what he wanted, but I had a duty to Tosh and my parents and that had to come first before some silly dream.”

Buffy felt the heat stain her cheeks. There was that word again. “But duty’s important,” she insisted. “That’s why I can’t go to L.A. with Spike. I’m needed here.”

Elsa was silent for a while, busily ironing one of Clem’s shirts with the vast sleeves. “I’m sure you are. When you’ve got a single purpose in life, it makes you feel good about yourself. As far as I was concerned, I was Tosh’s mother, that was my role; I was important. No one could do that but me.”

Buffy bit her lip. “You’re saying I think I’m all important? I don’t, Elsa! But I know what I can do to help.” 

Elsa looked up from the ironing. “All I’m saying is that I muddled up my ‘duties’ in my head. I forgot I had a duty to Clem, too. I’m his wife and my place is at his side. The second he left for Sunnydale, I realised I was wrong. I packed up my things and Tosh and got my Dad to drive us here.”

“But it’s so dangerous. What about Tosh? Weren’t you scared for him?”

Elsa picked up the iron and for a second, Buffy could see her wielding the axe against the octipider. “Tosh is a demon, Buffy. Never forget that. He might only be little, but he loves the fighting, the killing. What’s the old saying - tigers breed true.”

Buffy fell silent. She wasn’t Spike’s wife; she only wished she was. But deep in her heart she knew that in some ways Elsa was right. She'd always been intensely proud of being the only Slayer, even if it had stopped her having a normal life. When the other Slayers had appeared, she'd been thrilled in lots of ways, but there had always been that little niggle of resentment that she'd lost her role in life. She knew that this was a time when she had to be honest with herself. Hadn’t she felt a thrill of excitement when she realised the Hellmouth had opened again and that she was here, on the spot, to deal with it?

“Go and talk to him before he leaves,” Elsa said suddenly. “I knew I could follow Clem, but if Spike goes and you don’t know where he’ll be or what will happen, will you ever forgive yourself? Will doing your duty be worth it?”

* * * * * *

 

Spike was standing in the shadows where the mall was being built. He was still angry at Buffy. Why couldn’t she see that he had to find out why he couldn’t remember her properly, that he needed to know who he was, what he was?

Clem’s little red car came bucketing up the rough track and screeched to a halt. The demon jumped out, loaded down with grocery bags. “Hi, Spike! How you doing?”

“I need the car.”

“Wow. Well, OK, where you going?”

“L.A.”

“Buffy, too?”

“No! Slayer’s busy being Superwoman, killing Shades, closing Hellmouths.”

Clem’s wrinkled face contorted into a huge frown as he struggled with various brown bags to stop them slipping to the ground. Spike reached out impatiently and took two.

“Thanks! I’ve got blood in there for you from the butcher. Well, it’s what she’s always done, isn’t it. Would be hard to walk away.”

Spike’s face was bleak. “I want to find out why I lost my memory. Who I am. What I am.”

“So you’re leaving her to cope on her own?”

Spike raised an eyebrow at the demon’s tone. It was the first time he’d heard Clem sound disapproving. It was a weird sensation. Even though he didn’t remember the bloke, he accepted that they’d been good mates at some time and he had a feeling that Clem had always agreed with him on everything.

“She doesn’t need me.”

Clem stared at him and shook his head, ears waving wildly. “Spike, if you believe that, then wounding your head must have done more damage than destroy your memory. Buffy’s always needed you and you’ve always needed her. ”

“I need to know who I am!” Spike repeated stubbornly.

“Well,” Clem said cheerfully, “I suppose you do, but whoever you are, you’re not going to change, are you? If you go now, find out who you are and come back and discover Buffy dead, will it be worth it?”

He turned, leaving Spike standing in the dark shadows, his blue eyes guarded and troubled. Then the vampire realised he was still holding two brown bags, one of which was dripping ominously. He turned and walked hurriedly back towards Clem’s rooms. Perhaps if he could just see Buffy, speak to her.

He rounded a rough concrete post, and almost bumped into the Slayer who’d been running to find him. The bags went flying as his hands went out to catch her and, without thinking, he pulled her close and held her as tightly as he could. For seconds she stayed motionless, then her arms wound round his neck and her grasp became as fierce as his own.

 

tbc


	14. Fighting Corners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buffy and Spike realise that apart they are nothing, together- everything.

Never Alone by Lilachigh

 

Chapter 14 - Fighting corners

Sitting on the gritty, dirty floor, Spike shifted his back against the rough concrete wall. The underground parking lot of the New Sunnydale shopping mall was only half built but the workers had vanished to tackle another job in the cavernous building. Buffy sighed, leaning against his shoulder, she glanced down to where she could see their boots in a line - two large black and dirty, hers smaller, scuffed, a splash of blood from some long dead demon indelibly smeared on the laces.

She remembered once - another lifetime ago - sitting on the porch steps at Revello Drive, staring at their boots, side by side, as she’d cried over her mother‘s illness and a clumsy vampire had patted her shoulder to comfort her. Revello Drive was long gone, porch and all. As were her mother, of course, Tara, Anya, all those potential Slayers. Vampires and demons she’d lost count of - not that she’d kept lists. Perhaps she should have done. Kendra would have kept a neat little notebook with all the kills written down, described and marked as to their quality.

“You dropped your blood,” she said at last, sitting up a little and looking across to where the soggy brown paper bag was still leaking its contents in a spreading puddle.

Spike grunted and his arm tightened round her as if loosening the contact scared him.

“Elsa will scold you for making a mess,” Buffy said drowsily. She didn’t understand why she felt so tired. But her limbs ached with weariness and her eyelids felt so heavy. 

“Scary lady,” Spike murmured. “Fights Clem’s corner without asking questions. And bloody hell, did you see her with that axe when the octipider attacked us?”

There was a pause, then, “Are you saying I don’t fight yours?”

“Slayer, if I had a corner of my own, you could fight it any time!”

Buffy slid a hand round his waist, wiggling her fingers until they pulled his T shirt loose and could touch the smooth slope of his stomach. “That’s what it all comes down to doesn’t it, Spike. Having something of your own?”

The vampire frowned. He knew he wasn’t much of a thinker, knew that he fought from the blood, from feelings and emotions. Thoughts were more complicated to put into words. “You know who you are, where you come from - hell’s bleeding bells, Buffy, you even know more about me than I do. I wanted - still want - to have that knowledge myself, not just what you tell me.”

“But you’re still here? You didn’t go to L.A.”

“And you’re not half way down the Hellmouth, looking for Shades to slaughter.”

“So why are we both here?” Buffy asked cautiously. She tightened her grip on the vampire, as if he could slip away if she once let go.

Spike sighed. “I was talking to Clem and I suddenly realised that even though I can’t remember the past properly, you and me, we’re two halves of the same circle. Just like Clem and Elsa belong together, so do we, Slayer. Just because I can’t remember how the circle was made in the first place is no excuse for breaking it now.”

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and she smiled, her face hidden against his shoulder. She was so desperately tired. “I feel as if we were both standing on the edge of a precipice and somehow we’ve stumbled back, away from falling,” she said slowly. “All I could see, until I spoke to Elsa, was my duty as a Slayer. And that - that’s the whole problem, Spike.”

“What? Your duty as a Slayer? You’re not making sense, luv.”

“Listen, you’ve just said it, too. ‘A’ Slayer. Not ‘The’ Slayer anymore. I am not the only Chosen One in the world. There are lots. I think - I think deep down I’ve been jealous of them,” she said in a rush, hurrying to get the words out while she was brave enough to say them. “Suddenly, there was this big chance to save the world, close the Hellmouth again, be the old Buffy Summers, doing my Duty.”

“Well, I don’t remember the old Buffy Summers, but the new one will do me very nicely,” Spike said.

“And I think that was part of the problem as well,” Buffy whispered, determined to have the whole tangled web laid out in front of them.

Spike shifted round, pulling her onto his lap so he could look down at her face. “You mean it upsets you that I’ve got hardly any memory of you?”

Buffy ran a finger tip along the new scar that forked through his dark eyebrow. She wondered what on earth - or some other dimension - had given it to him. “No - maybe - yes, of course it does, you idiot! But I can live with that. Every day we’re making new memories. I think what I was worried about, what I’m still worried about is, what if you go to L.A., remember everything, then decide - ”

“Decide what, pet?”

“That you don’t love me. That all those feelings you had for me died when you closed the Hellmouth.”

There was a long silence. From far above their heads, came the echoing clanging and hammering of workmen intent on constructing a bigger and better New Sunnydale mall. “Would that be such a bad thing as far as you’re concerned?” Spike said at last.

Buffy felt an icy ripple run down her spine. She wanted to jump up and walk away. Even yesterday, she would have done just that, refusing to talk out the problem, determined to hide behind pride and an overwhelming sense of rejection. ‘What do you mean?” she forced herself to say. “You know I love you.”

“But there’s no future in it, is there, luv? Slayer, Vampire. Not going to end with a nice little house, a yard, a white picket fence - ”

“ - fat grandchildren,” she whispered, remembering another conversation, another vampire..

“Hey! Well, yes, if we’re honest. No kids, so no grandchildren. I think - being with you is fine for me, Buffy, but it all sounds a bit bleak for you. You should have more in your life than – well —than me.”

“But that would mean you leaving me, breaking the circle, as you put it. So we’re back to square one.”

“I can’t leave you, Slayer,” Spike said, pulling her close and kissing her deeply. “You can send me away, and I’ll go. But I won’t ever leave.”

“You were going to L.A. to find your past,” Buffy said, her head swimming from his kiss.

“And you were going to try to close the Hellmouth on your own! So, snap, we were both bloody stupid.”

“There’s that precipice again.”

Spike uncurled his long legs and stood up, pulling Buffy with him. “I reckon we’ll come to the edge over and over again, pet. Life’s a bitch and then you die! Or, in my case, you don’t. As long as we know it’s there, we’ll pull each other back from it.”

Buffy reached up, not very far, and cupped the thin pale face with her hands. How had she ever been stupid enough to imagine she could go on without him? She’d lost him once before and had come so close to throwing everything away again this time out of stupid pride. Green eyes blazed up into blue. “Let me say this out loud, drill it into your brain. I love you, Spike. You denied it the first time I said it, but if you won’t accept now that it’s the truth, then I’ll...I’ll, I’ll kick your stupid vampire butt all over town.”

Spike flinched in agony as a picture shot through his brain. Light, heat, their hands entwined in flame and his voice, 'No you don’t, but thanks for saying it.' What a bloody idiot!

Buffy winced at the sight of the pain on his face but didn’t take her hands away. She pulled him closer and kissed him, lightly, softly at first, then harder, deeper, pushing her body against his, twining her hands into his hair, desperate that he believed her words, hoping that her body would convince him if nothing else would. When they drew apart they were both shaking with intensity of the emotion that coursed through their bodies. “So, what now?” Buffy asked. 

“Well, Slayer, all I want to do is sleep for about a thousand years. I’m going to bed. Coming?”

“You, me, a bed, and all you can think about is sleep?” Buffy teased as they wandered back towards his room.

Spike grinned, then yawned and Buffy realised that they were holding each other up, almost stumbling as the exhaustion from the past few days began to catch up with them.

She was asleep before the door was closed, unaware of Spike picking her up and laying her on the bed, pulling a quilt over them and crashing out next to her, his arm thrown possessively across her shoulders. It was dark when she woke - and she was alone. He’d gone! The quilt was thrown on the floor, abandoned. Buffy swung herself off the bed, fumbling for the light switch, all the cynical bitterness sweeping back over her. Well, of course he’d gone. Had she really expected him to stay? All this nonsense about circles and belonging and love. Just vampire talk. And he hadn’t even bothered to leave her a note. 

She remembered that at least she’d done that the last time they’d slept together like that. She’d told him where she was going, what she was doing, but now - Spike had probably hoped she’d give in and go with him to L.A. Well, she hadn’t, so he obviously had decided to clear out and -

The door opened and the vampire stood there, dark in his leather coat. “Hey, Goldilocks! Got something to show you.” He held out his hand and she pushed her doubts aside and linked her fingers through his. 

“Where are we going?”

“For a ride.”

He strode through the dark caverns of the building site, up the stairs to where the car park would one day be. Clem’s car was parked by the door, gleaming in the moonlight. 

“Spike, where on earth are we going? Are you heading for L.A. after all?”

“Just sit quietly and you’ll see,” he said. “it‘s a surprise.”

Buffy pulled a face as they roared out onto the road with a screech of tyres. She wasn’t at all sure that Spike’s idea of a surprise would be hers.

The road gave way to a rough track and then they were driving along, through another building site, this time big wide lots where the frame work of houses had been erected and even a few spindly saplings had been planted. The car stopped, Spike got out and Buffy joined him on what would one day be the sidewalk and stood, bewildered, as he put his arm round her shoulder and waved expansively with the other.

“Clem told me they’d started building houses in this area again. For some bizarre reason, the planners are trying to recreate the town exactly as it was. I don’t remember your old house in Revello Drive, but this new one will be ours. I’ve no idea how much it’ll cost, but whatever it is, I’ll bloody well beg, borrow or steal it.”

Buffy stared at what the moonlight was showing. A small house, awaiting its roof and windows. But the shape was the same, there was a porch and steps and it was all rising from the rough ground - her home, their home. “Ours?” she whispered.

Spike pulled her close. “Well, Slayer, we can’t stay with Clem and Elsa for ever. Chap needs a bit of privacy, especially for what I intend to do with you! And there’s that sis of yours you’ve mentioned. She’ll need somewhere to stay when she visits, won’t she?”

“But what about L.A. ?”

Spike rubbed his chin into her hair. “Big town, isn’t going anywhere. Hell, I know I’m old. Another few months won’t make any difference. You’ve got Shades to destroy and a Hellmouth to close. Could just let you get on with it on your own, but hey, where’s the fun in that, Slayer?“

Buffy twisted in his arms to look at him and he caught his breath at the blazing happiness on her face . “No fun at all, Spike.”

She gloried in the strength of his arms as they closed round her and gave herself up to his embrace, realising for the very first time, that she was giving everything to him, heart, body, mind and soul, holding nothing back. So she was back in Sunnydale to stay. Back to Hellmouths and demons and vampires. Back to fighting and killing and being Buffy Summers. All the things she’d hated and desperately wished to end would start all over again. And she’d never been happier in her entire life.

She was home at last, but this time she was with the man she loved more than life itself, and she would never be alone again.

the end.

 

Hi guys, hope you enjoyed this last chapter. I felt I needed to bring this particular story to a close because Buffy and Spike had moved such a long way from that first episode. There might be a sequel because there are several issues to resolve, especially Spike's returning memory. We'll see.

Until then - take care. Lilachigh


End file.
